In Misery
by DwaejiTokki
Summary: Same story, new summary (can't be bothered to change it in the 1st chapter, though): Merlin, Arthur, and the other knights are held captive by a sorceress. The knights and Arthur await rescue, since Merlin had escaped, but not everything is as it first seems. Of course, matters are further complicated when the sorceress returns from the dead. Warnings: graphic torture, major whump
1. Chapter 1

In Misery

**Summary**: Merlin, Arthur, and the knights are ambushed and taken captive. Merlin, under their orders, makes a run for it and disappears into the trees. Will Merlin find help? Warnings: graphic torture, major whump

**Rating**: M, definitely, yes.

**Disclaimer**: "Hey, you own Merlin, right?" Me: "Who, dear? Me, dear? Own, dear? No, dear."

Chapter 1

It was all Merlin's fault, really. That was the only possible explanation. Merlin, the annoying, bumbling, rambling manservant, who really was a horrible servant no matter how you looked at it. Arthur only hoped that he didn't get lost, but knowing that idiot he probably would.

The young king momentarily broke out of his musings and looked around himself. He was crowded into a cell that was much too small for himself, let alone himself and his trusted knights of the round table. He was crushed between Leon and Elyan, and though he was becoming irritable about the whole thing he didn't dare complain. It was, first of all, unbecoming of a king, not to mention the fact that he was quite sure everyone else in the cell (with the exception of Gwaine) was doing his best to give Arthur the most room.

Leon was decidedly pressed uncomfortably against the cold, damp wall. Elyan, besides occasionally knocking elbows with Arthur, was sitting with his legs drawn up and didn't seem to be bothered by the close proximity of his comrades. Rather, he seemed to be leaning into Percival, who was against the opposite wall from Leon. Gwaine, the selfish bastard, lay sprawled out in front of them, unconscious. Okay, maybe he wasn't that unselfish, considering the fact that they had wordlessly and mutually lain him there upon their earlier arrival.

It didn't change the fact that Arthur was angry. Angry at his captors, angry at his knights (Gwaine especially, the selfish bastard), angry at Merlin, but mostly angry at himself. He was king, for goodness sake! He should have been more alert, should have seen them coming. He should have fought harder. It didn't matter that he took out quite a few of the mercenaries. It mattered that he hadn't defeated them and escaped with his knights (and idiot Merlin) in tow. It was his fault. No, it was Merlin's, it had to be. Everything was Merlin's fault, as always. But it was Arthur's fault, really, and he knew it.

At least Merlin had escaped.

Vaguely, Arthur wondered how long they had been stuck in that horrid cell. There was no window, so there was no concept of time. It had been around midday when they were attacked, he knew, and a few hours after that they had arrived in horse-drawn cages at their destination: a lone, crumbling castle in the middle of nowhere. There, several guards had removed all of their weapons and armor, and then dragged them unceremoniously to the dungeon. In the back of his head, a small voice that sounded suspiciously like Geoffrey, his old history tutor, telling him that the castle had once belonged to some noble or other who had fallen due to some rebellion or other. He wasn't paying attention to it.

In front of them, Gwaine moaned softly, brow furrowing as he fought his way into consciousness. Leon, who was closest, moved toward the prone man.

"Gwaine," he said in a hushed voice.

The sound, despite the low volume, echoed around them. Arthur was reminded of why their escape-making conversations had quickly died down: the sound traveled easily through the steel bars of the door and bounced down the hallway to the guards' ears. There was no escaping due to that, not to mention that they couldn't very well pick the lock.

Gwaine groaned again and lifted a hand to his head. Leon helped him sit up. The knight's brown eyes fluttered open, confusion in them evident. "Percival, why didn't you stop me from drinking too much? Arthur'll have my head if I show up like this..."

That, at least, brought a smirk to the knights' and king's lips.

Almost as suddenly as Gwaine had finished speaking, his eyes hardened in remembrance and realization of their predicament. He cursed under his breath and looked around, headache dulled in a rush of adrenaline.

"Calm down," Leon said, sitting back.

Now that Gwaine was awake and moving, there was a bit more room for the other men to spread out. Arthur took Leon's space, and Elyan in turn moved a bit in the direction Arthur had, giving Percival's wide girth a breather.

"Who captured us?" Gwaine demanded harshly, voice resounding.

Elyan answered, "We don't know. We were left here some time ago, and have yet to see visitors."

The newly-roused knight laughed mirthlessly, eyes traveling to each of his friend's in turn. Once he shared a dark look with Leon, his face fell, and he looked all around the cell again. "Where's Merlin?" he asked quickly.

"Shh!" Arthur pressed a finger to his lips, giving Gwaine a murderous look. His eyes told Gwaine all that he needed to know: Merlin had gotten away, and the captors apparently had no knowledge that Merlin had even accompanied them-or, if they did, they didn't care.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Each of the men tensed and scowled, awaited the meeting that was coming. Arthur stood quickly, and his men followed suit. Gwaine allowed Arthur to take his place in front of the bars so that he, as king, was given the brunt of the attention.

To their surprise, two guards passed them by, dragging a heap between them. It was obvious that there was a person in the crudely-bound blanket, but it was impossible to tell whether the person was dead or alive. Hell, they couldn't even see whether it was a man or a woman, only the distinct bulge of a head at the end that dragged across the stone floor, and another that might have been a shoulder. Whoever it was, they were tall, and that was all they knew.

Following the trio was a beautiful woman in a flowing white gown. The back of the hem trailed across the ground, covered in dirt and mud, and a few leaves clung to it as well. She didn't seem to mind. Her pale white face was impassionate, but her dark eyes held a sort of eerie anticipation. Arthur suppressed the urge to shudder at the cruel-looking woman. But her eyes never strayed from her apparent destination, she never met eyes with the captive king or knights.

Arthur gripped the bars and pressed the left side of his face against them, straining to see where they were going. They stopped at the farthermost cell from his and dragged the bundle inside. The person was alive, then, Arthur mused. There was no need to arrest a corpse. That did nothing to alleviate the sense of dread deep in his stomach.

A few moments later, the two guards exited the cell and locked the door behind them. They came back the way they had passed, again refusing to meet Arthur's intense stare. He looked back. Why had they locked the woman in with that person? Was she also a prisoner? But she had not been restrained. She had, in fact, looked as though she were the one in control.

Arthur furrowed his brow and turned back to his knights, who looked back at him in equal confusion. Before any of them could say anything, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the air. Each of them startled and whipped toward the cell door as though expecting someone to be standing there. The scream resounded again, a horrible, agonized shriek of pain, and all of them realized at once that it was coming from the cell on the other side of the dungeon.

The scream died away, suddenly, and a very faint, ragged panting could be heard. After a short moment, the cool voice of a woman could be heard murmuring, though they couldn't make out a word of it.

With a cold feeling that brought the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, Arthur realized that the dungeon was probably built to amplify sound. It twisted sounds into something unrecognizable, terrifying. Every uttered word would echo, bouncing from wall to wall until it lost its original meaning, becoming a mere whisper of what it once was. The place was specifically designed to strike fear into the hearts of prisoners. But, Arthur thought grimly, at least they were still together...and weren't being physically tortured.

Another unearthly wail reached their ears.

Arthur looked up and saw that his knights had reached the same conclusion. They shared a grim look, and all visibly flinched in sympathy as another tortured scream was elicited. The men could only wonder what was being done to the wretched soul, and for what reason.

Gwaine clucked his tongue. "The poor bastard," he muttered.

Percival was the first to sink back into a sitting position. It was no use draining their strength. After all, thus far they'd been quite ignored. There was no guarantee of food or water anytime soon, and there was always the chance that one of them would be next in line for a torture session.

Elyan, and then Leon, and then Gwaine sat as well. Arthur stood at the bars, looking out into the empty hallway. Each scream elicited a wince. He pitied the man, for he knew for sure it was a man by the deep moans between screams. All throughout, the calm voice of the woman could be heard speaking in a steady drone. Arthur thought of the strange lady who had followed the guards. He again suppressed a shudder at her image. He was certain that she was the torturer.

What felt like hours passed. Arthur couldn't be entirely sure, but it could have very well been hours. After a while, the screams had died away, but he was fairly certain it was only because the man's voice had given out. They could still hear the woman talking, and a sharp, ragged gasp that indicated some kind of pain was inflicted on the unfortunate.

At least Merlin had escaped.

It became a sort of mantra to him. He repeated it inside his head-never aloud, though, since he and Merlin were most definitely not friends, and therefore Arthur didn't care about him. Arthur hoped that Merlin had made it back to Camelot by then. They were only about a day's hard ride from it, and though they had all lost their horses, he was sure that the bumbling servant could move quickly if he put his mind to it.

Arthur's frown deepened. Even if Merlin didn't get back soon, they were due back by nightfall. If they still had not arrive by the next morning, Gwen was sure to send out at least a small scout, who would possibly run into Merlin, who would inform them of what had happened. Then a rescue party would be formed, and Merlin would lead them back to where they were attacked. From there, he was sure they could be tracked.

Unless it rained and washed away the evidence.

There was no way of knowing if it had, though, so Arthur decided not to waste time thinking about it.

Footsteps down the hallway again made the knights perk up. They stood up immediately, lending silent support to their king, who lowered his hands from the bars and stuck his chin up proudly. Two guards marched past, not even flicking a glance in their direction.

Arthur was actually offended. Were they invisible?!

But he quickly forgot the indignation when he realized that they were unlocking the cell at the end of the dungeon. The lady in white exited primly, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress-and leaving long crimson streaks down it. Arthur fought the urge to be sick.

The guards locked the cell again behind her and she followed them back. As she neared, Arthur could make out a small smile on her lips that hadn't been there before. Anger accompanied his disgust.

This time Arthur fully intended to speak to them as they passed, forcing them to give him attention. Because he was the king, damn it, and the king of Camelot, captive or not, deserved respect! Just as he opened his mouth, the woman stopped in front of him, turning to face him.

His mouth hung open, momentarily stunned.

She only smiled up at him with her unsettling eyes. "King Arthur," she greeted. It was most definitely she who had been speaking to the tortured prisoner.

Arthur forced his eyes to stay locked in her calm, scrutinizing gaze, desperately trying to ignore the blood that flecked her face. In a dimmer lighting, they might have looked like freckles. "Who are you?" he finally demanded.

Her smile never faltered, not even under the sweltering glares of an angry king and four loyal knights. "My name is Mystral."

"Mystral," Arthur repeated, ever courteous. "Why have you captured me and my knights?"

"I was bored," was her reply.

The men were rather taken aback. "Bored?" he uttered incredulously.

She nodded emphatically.

Elyan scoffed, turning attention to him. He folded his arms across his chest. "And you're torturing that poor soul because you're bored?"

Mystral's smile widened, further pronouncing her cold beauty. "It passes the time. But don't worry, when I'm bored with him I'll come for one of you. He," she gestured vaguely back towards the cell, "is going first as punishment."

"Punishment for what?" Gwaine demanded, regarding the woman with an unreadable expression. There was no hint of humor on his usually cheerful face.

"Would you like to ask him?" she asked, locking eyes with the knight. "I'll have the guards bring him here, and you can talk with him all you like. That is, one of you would have to trade places with him. Otherwise I'll be bored again."

Arthur clenched his jaw when he saw that Gwaine was considering it.

"No," he cut in before Gwaine could speak. "As much as it pains me, I will not allow any of us to take a stranger's place. I am sorry for his pain, but as king I refuse the offer."

Mystral, during Arthur's short, imperial speech, turned her eyes from Gwaine's livid face to the king's. "Very well. I suppose you'll not know until I'm through." She turned to walk away, then stopped and looked back. "Oh, and I'll have the guards bring you some supper. It's getting late, after all. Quite nearly midnight." Then she swept away.

Once she was gone, Arthur held up a hand to silence the sudden onslaught of whispers from his knights. They quieted, and Arthur strained his ears. Yes, he could hear the very, very faint echoes of harsh breathing. The prisoner was still alive. He felt awful at refusing the man's chance at respite, but his knights at the moment were needed if they were to concoct some sort of plan. Once they escaped, they could help the tortured man as well.

Gwaine glared at Arthur when he turned around, but the king ignored him. "We need to come up with some sort of plan. Apparently the guards will be back soon with sustenance, and we might be able to overpower them."

The knights nodded in agreement. A simple, yet usually effective plan. It's served them well on more than one occasion. Percival and Gwaine moved to the front, as they had the best chance of getting the guards down. Arthur and the others (well, except maybe Gwaine) didn't want to kill them, but if push came to shove he wouldn't hesitate.

They waited for the guards to come. And waited. And waited.

And waited.

Eventually, it became apparent that Mystral had either lied, or the guards had disobeyed her and decided to not bring them food. In any case, they finally sat back down, reserving their strength for later. Arthur sighed heavily and dragged a hand down his face.

"Well," he said. "Might as well get some sleep while we can. I'll take first watch, and wake you if guards come."

The knights nodded reluctantly, and moved into as comfortable positions as they could in the cramped space. For the life of him, Arthur couldn't comprehend why they'd all been mushed into a single cell when there were obviously plenty. Not to mention the fact that it was much easier to conspire when they were in such close proximity. A sudden image of Merlin knocking on a tree trunk nearly made him laugh. That had occurred just that morning, when Arthur claimed that...nothing bad would happen. Arthur cursed himself inwardly.

Time and time again Merlin's little gut feelings had been proved right, and yet Arthur ignored him every time. And every time, something bad happened.

He nearly leapt out of his skin at a sudden sound, jolted from his reverie. Just before he shook his comrades awake, he stopped himself, hearing it again and recognizing it for what it was. The prisoner at the end of the dungeon was moaning lowly, obviously in terrible pain. His voice was hoarse, and his breath wheezed. Pity welled up for the man once more, but Arthur couldn't do anything for him.

For a brief second Arthur considered calling out some sort of comfort, assuring the man that they would escape and save him. But he immediately dismissed the idea. Firstly, he'd already told his men to get some rest, and that would certainly wake them (though he doubted they would mind, if it was a comforting gesture to the prisoner). Secondly, he was sure that the echoes would morph his words into senseless jumbles, and confuse the poor soul. Possibly it would only serve to frighten him more. So Arthur held his tongue and set his jaw.

And the poor man continued to moan in misery.

**A/N:** This is my first Merlin fanfiction. It's an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while now.

There's not really a specific time chronology in this. I suppose it could be a bit AU. But in any case, it's after Arthur's coronation and marriage to Gwen, so...*shrugs*

Thanks so much for reading! I'll update the next chapter as soon as I write it. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"About bloody time," Gwaine muttered, discreetly tensing on his haunches. Percival did the same beside him, as did the others in the cell behind them. The guards had finally brought their "supper," which consisted of several chunks of stale bread and a single pitcher of water, no cups. One of the two men was unlocking the door.

But the guards seemed to have anticipated their premeditated attack. The guard with the food, before the door was swung open, placed the tray on the floor and slid it in with his foot. The men in the cell were more than a little disappointed at this, and Gwaine lunged foolishly at them. But he impacted the bars hard, no doubt leaving vertical bruises across his chest. His arms were unimpeded by the barrier and he struggled to grasp at least one of the guards, or at least snatch the keys. Of course it didn't work, since the guards stepped backwards. Still there was no hint of any emotion on their faces. It was as though they were puppets.

Gwaine snarled wildly at them, and Arthur roughly pulled him back. The king took a moment to collect himself, and give Gwaine an opportunity to do the same, before telling Leon to divide up the food. They'd have to pass the pitcher around, taking small sips at a time to make sure everyone got a fair share. The knights suddenly realized how hungry they were. Though the portions were measly, they ate it savoringly. No telling when their next "meal" would come.

When Mystral swept past them a few minutes later, soft steps echoing, none of the men stood. They glared at her, but she seemed completely oblivious. She was intent on the last cell in the dungeon-the prisoner. Each of the men suddenly felt a bit queasy, and a bit guilty. Had the lone man been brought food? If he had been given anything, they had missed it. Arthur swallowed hard, and the bread felt gritty in his mouth. But there really was nothing to be done for the poor soul.

Mystral's soft voice carried to them, and again they could not make out her words. Arthur began to wonder whether she was actually speaking their language. A shuddering gasp bounced toward their cell, and the knights winced in sympathy. His torture was apparently starting again, even though his voice had long since broken.

Or, they thought it had.

A fresh shriek of agony tore through the dungeon. Leon choked on the water, nearly dropping the pitcher and spilling its contents. All of their heads whipped toward the barred door in surprise. After a few more screams of pain, and a grimace on the knights' faces, silence fell heavily. It was almost suffocating. Arthur released a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding when the ragged sound of air passing through a raw throat rattled down the chamber. The man was still alive, at least. But then he wondered whether it would not be more merciful for him to die. After all, he'd already gone through one day of horrible torture, and the king doubted he'd last another.

Percival's brow was sheen with sweat, and he was decidedly green in the face. Arthur hoped he didn't get sick, especially on him. Even if he set Merlin to polishing his boots when they got back to Camelot, he'd still have wear them until then. Arthur silently promised himself to splurge on a new set of armor straight from Camelot's forge. Lords knew he needed it.

Mystral's voice began again. To be honest, Arthur was quite frightened of her, though he wasn't sure why. Not that he'd ever voice that aloud, he'd never hear the end of it. He could just hear Gwaine's cheerful tone, ever-mocking him. And he would make sure Merlin heard every single detail, that was certain. And then he'd have to listen to Merlin tease him. ("Oh, so were you really scared of a girl, Arthur?" "Merlin?" "Shut up? Right, I can do that.")

Arthur started at the crack of a whip, followed instantly by a reverberating yelp. It sounded inhuman, the cries of agony. Another crack, this time echoed with a sob.

Another.

Another.

Another.

None could keep the look of sympathetic despair from his face. The whip came down relentlessly, methodically. The cries grew weaker with each hit, reduced to half-conscious gasps and whimpers. And still the whip came down.

Arthur wanted to cover his ears. In his mind's eye, he remembered the public floggings in Camelot. He couldn't remember a single one that had gone on as long as this one. It was cruel-more than cruel. Evil. Pure evil. Arthur gritted his teeth and clenched his fists so hard that he drew half-moons of blood in his palm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Elyan had pressed his hands over his ears. He didn't blame him.

For the umpteenth time, for all of the knights had long since lost count, the whip cracked down and announced this fact throughout the rooms. But this time it was followed by silence. Arthur waited with bated breath for a sound that indicated life. But there was none. The prisoner was dead.

Gwaine had reached the same conclusion, and then the others deduced it as well. The formerly mentioned was absolutely murderous. He pushed himself to his feet, and with a roar of anger shook the bars with all of his strength. They rattled so loudly that the other knights covered their ears for the pain, but Gwaine took no heed.

"You bastard!" his scream echoed so violently that it sounded as though hundreds of Gwaines were present. "He was innocent! What the hell did he do to deserve such torture? Oi! Oi! You bitch! Come out here and fight!"

When he was decidedly ignored by Mystral, Gwaine released the bars and staggered both directions as though he were drunk. For a moment Arthur thought he would fall, but he drew back a fist and ferociously slammed it against the stone wall, putting all of his weight into the punch. A crunch meant that his knuckles had cracked, and possibly broke, but the knight seemed completely unawares of it. He hung his head, dark hair obscuring his defeated face, and breathed heavily. No one offered any consolation. They too were too in shock by the brutality of his death.

Soft steps down the hall.

This time Arthur forced himself up and pressed past Gwaine to stand at the door. His face was stony. He would give the torturer no pleasure by giving in to his roiling emotions. Gods, hadn't Merlin gotten back to Camelot yet? Hadn't anyone been sent to their aid?

Mystral stopped at the gate, once again flecked with blood and wearing a small smile. "King Arthur," she greeted.

Arthur resisted the urge to vomit on her. "How could you?" he asked harshly, voice hardly over a whisper. "He was defenseless. What could he have possibly done to elicit such a punishment? To elicit such a death?"

"Death?" she repeated, cocking her head in genuine confusion. "Oh, no, he's not dead."

Each man furrowed his brow. How could anyone still be alive after such treatment?

As if reading their minds, Mystral smiled and answered, "Magic is a very useful tool. You can do nearly anything with it."

Arthur hardened immediately. Magic. She was a sorceress. "You're using magic to hurt him," he said.

"No," she said. "I'm using magic to heal him."

The knights and king of Camelot could only stare at her.

Percival broke the silence in his effort to comprehend the villain. "You torture him to near death," he said in a softly incredulous tone that belied dangerous anger, "and then heal him with magic before starting it all over again?"

She inclined her head towards him, indicating his correctness. "I will heal him tomorrow before playing more. I am still thinking of what to do then. Perhaps fire?"

White hot rage swelled in the righteous men's breasts. Mystral would not get away with such a heinous conduct. Arthur's hatred of magic, if at all possibly, intensified.

"You," he seethed, gripping the bars in his hands and pushing his face between them to get as close to her as possible, "are a wretched, evil creature. I'll have you burned for this. I'll have you hung at the gallows and then light a pyre beneath your kicking feet. You are foul, a blight on this world, witch." He put as much force and malice behind his words as he could.

Mystral did not seem at all perturbed by Arthur's threats. If anything, she appeared to be flattered. With a curtsey, she spun on her heel and left their cries of mutiny and disgust behind her.

This time it was Arthur's turn to split his knuckles on the wall.

It took them quite a while to process and get a handle on their rage. During this time none of them spoke. Gwaine stared listlessly at the darkest top corner of the cell. Everyone else was deep in thought with their eyes trained on either the floor before them or their hands.

The deafening silence was eventually broken, but not by the knights of the round table. It was a sound from the farthest cell, and it was clear as day despite the stilting echoes: "P-please, no...No, no...Please...No more, p...please..."

Arthur's heart clenched at the sound. The tortured prisoner was probably in the throes of a nightmare, and more likely than not plagued with fever. The king could not even begin to imagine being forced to bear merciless pain with no respite, only to have it all taken away, and then to have the process begin all over again. Arthur didn't think that he would be able to take it. He made a note to himself that when they rescued the man, he would make sure he lived the rest of his life in lavish comfort, complete with his own house and servants. It was the least he could do, after forbidding his knights, trained to withstand torture, from taking his place. Arthur found himself wondering who the man was. Certainly not a knight, as they surely didn't travel alone, and the only others here were himself and his knights.

Gwaine finally spoke, voice rough as though choking back tears, "I should have offered to trade my skin for his."

"I forbade it," murmured Arthur in reply.

"Since when have I ever followed your damn orders, your highness?"

Arthur flinched and remained silent.

"We'll rescue him," Leon said quietly but surely.

Beside him, both Percival and Elyan nodded.

"Merlin," Elyan said, "will surely have gotten back by now. It's been two days, more than enough time even without horses. Gwen will send help."

Arthur nodded mutely. A sense of dread washed over him, but he couldn't fathom why. Another whimper from the farthest cell reached their ears.

"The poor bastard," Gwaine commented. Suddenly he was on his feet again, rudely pushing the king-the king!-aside to take his place at the door. "Oi!" he called, rattling the bars. "What are we supposed to do if we have to take a piss?"

Arthur and Gwaine's fellow knights gaped at him. Gwaine was oblivious to their stares, calling for a chamber pot or some other means of relief, until he turned at the sound of Elyan giggling madly. The dark-skinned knight pressed a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the laughter, but unfortunately it was addicting and soon all of the men were laughing. There was no reason for it, really, but it was impossible to control.

They wrestled their nerves back into control after a few minutes. There was no longer any trace of humor on their faces. It had been completely inappropriate in the first place. In the silence that ensued, they could faintly hear tiny sobs. It seemed that the prisoner was in much pain, but was not at the mercy of unconsciousness. Pitiable. The men's hearts went out to him.

"If we could just pick the lock," Leon muttered absently, eyes traveling around the cell as though he'd find a key.

Arthur allowed himself to fall deep into thought again. It had been roughly two days. They had been due back the previous morning, but they had been running late and it was nearing afternoon. That was when they had been captured. By the morning today, patrols would have been sent out along the route they would have been on. By late afternoon, if they traveled far enough, they might find signs of a struggle. Or Merlin, if the idiot had tripped over a root and knocked himself out.

Merlin.

Gods, what was taking him so long? Arthur knew he was clumsy, but even he could run when it came down to it. Perhaps he'd gotten lost. The king wouldn't put it past him.

Arthur sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. His legs ached, but the cell was much too small to pace in, especially considering he couldn't move two steps without treading on one of his knights. So he did the next best thing and sat down where he was, legs crossed.

The man in the farthest cell had fallen silent. Arthur didn't know whether he was alive or dead, but either way he hoped he wasn't in pain. His jaw clenched tighter when he remembered that Mystral was contemplating burning the man next. Gods, magic! Arthur wanted nothing more than to run his sword through the sorceress, but of course he didn't have his sword. His eyes landed on the pitcher.

He could, when the guards returned, knock them out with the pitcher, take their swords, and sneak out of the dungeon in search of his weapons and armor. Then, he and his knights, would track down the sorceress and kill her, and burn her to ashes. Then they could save the other prisoner and take him back to Camelot, to Gaius, who would heal him. And then, and only then, would Arthur hunt down his manservant and kill him for not sending help, and then he'd give him the usual host of chores and send him off to muck out the stables. Oh, and, for good measure, muck out the latrines. Yes, that was humiliating. A good and proper punishment for useless Merlin.

Soon, despite himself, Arthur began to drift off into a light sleep. He was sure that his men would know to wake him should anything happen, and contented himself to allow the numbing feeling to wash over him. He was exhausted, and hungry, and his hand hurt. Merlin would pay dearly for that.

After what seemed like only a few minutes, but must have been hours judging from the way his whole body ached from its position, Arthur was woken. The two guards had returned with the same meal as before. They gestured to the empty pitcher and tray that were already in the cell, indicating that they would get the meal in return. Percival grudgingly pushed them through the door, only open enough to allow the trade. Then the door was once more slammed shut, and they were left alone to eat.

"While I quite enjoy their hospitality," Gwaine quipped darkly, "can't say the quality of the food is much to my liking...But at least there's variety."

Leon shook his head and handed the knight his share of stale bread.

They ate slowly, under the pretense of savoring their meal. But really, they were forcing themselves to eat. This time they knew that the prisoner hadn't been brought anything to eat nor drink, and each tasted a little guilt with each bite. But they had to keep up their strength if they were to escape, so they persevered.

A few moments later, the telltale steps of Mystral could be heard, and she swept by calmly. She never spared them a glance, which they expected. Nevertheless, they glared coldly at her, and their eyes lingered on the bars.

Her murmuring voice reached them a moment later. Arthur swallowed bile as he realized that it was a healing spell, preparing the man for more agony. A low moan informed them that the man was also well aware of his predicament. Mystral's voice ceased for a long moment, and there was no sound but the harsh breaths echoing down the hallway.

The knights frowned in morbid anticipation. Why wasn't she doing anything? Or was he unable to voice his pain, the previous two days having taken their toll on him?

A quiet, almost missed chinking sound was followed by the ragged breathing quickening. And then Arthur remembered.

An unearthly howl tore through the air, startling all of them. Arthur winced, and couldn't help but wondering where Mystral had chosen to press the hot poker. It was probably in a sensitive area-he almost laughed at himself. It didn't matter where it was pressed, the fact was his flesh was being melted, and the agony would be profound.

And suddenly Percival was standing at the door, shaking it much more violently than even Gwaine had. The knights could only stare at him. None of them had ever seen such pure, unadulterated rage on his face. "Oi!" he screamed. "Mystral!"

The man's scream had died away, leaving him panting and wheezing. For a long moment, that was the only sound. Then, an airy voice, "Yes, Sir?"

"Stop what you're doing," Percival said in a menacing tone. "Release him. Take me in his stead."

"Percival!" Arthur hissed.

Percival only shot him a look. It was almost a physical blow, knocking the wind out of the king.

There was another long, painful moment of quiet. It was shattered by another tortured scream.

Percival let loose his own primal roar and shook the bars. The bars must have been extraordinarily sturdy to have withstood such temper, but hold they did. The large man seemed to suddenly lose his drive, and sank back to the floor and hung his head. Gwaine raised his eyes to the corner again, leaning his head back against the wall. Leon and Elyan returned to staring at their hands, looking quite sorry.

Once again, Arthur found himself promising all sorts of luxury for the man once they all escaped. Where was their rescue party? Where was Merlin? Curse that manservant, useless as always! A familiar sense of dread sank like a lead weight in his bowels. He tried to ignore it.

After what seemed like, and may have very well been, hours, Mystral came out of the farthest cell. Arthur stood, and told himself his legs were shaky because his arse was numb from sitting, and faced the door. He stuck his chin out proudly.

As per expected, Mystral stopped at their door with a smile on her face. Her pale cheeks were slightly flushed. Whether from the heat of the fire she had used for the poker or from exhilaration, Arthur knew not. "King Arthur," she greeted.

"Sorcerer," was his resenting reply. "Have you sent ransom to Camelot?"

"Why would I do that?" she cocked her head curiously.

"Camelot would pay whatever you wish for her king."

"I have all I want here."

Arthur scowled. "To torture people to brink of insanity."

"Past insanity," she corrected. Her eyes traveled to Percival, who, though he hadn't stood, was glaring at her. "Does your offer still stand, Sir Percival?"

His back straightened at this, but before Arthur could interject Percival nodded and said, "It does. Take me and spare him."

Mystral's smile widened. "That's no fun, Sir Percival."

"Then take me," Gwaine said, jumping to his feet and flicking his hair from his face. His cheeky smile lit up his face and he sauntered to the door. "I'm loads of fun. Ask anyone, they'll tell you the same. I know lots of games."

Mystral smiled sweetly at him and stepped closer. Gwaine's fingers twitched at his sides, eager to snatch out and snap her neck. "Oh, I don't doubt it, Sir Gwaine. But I've decided that he's too much fun to pass up now. He's not quite broken yet, but I can feel that we're getting close. I just have to find the right...game, as you said."

"Who is he?" Leon asked from the back.

Mystral's eyes went to him, and he stared back. "Hm?"

"Who is this man?" Leon repeated. "What did he do to deserve this so-called punishment?"

Her smile faltered a bit, and she looked from Leon to each of the knights in turn. Then she laughed, high-pitched and cold sounds bouncing eerily back at them. "This is really much too fun!" Without another word, she turned and walked away, ignoring their demands for her to explain.

The weight in Arthur's bowels pressed harder.

"She was surprised," Elyan said, furrowing his brow. "Surprised that we didn't know who it was."

It was as though an explosion went off. Ten pairs of eyes widened in horror, though Arthur immediately repressed the emotion. Those who were sitting got to their feet.

"No," he said coolly. "He escaped, I saw it."

"Did he?" Gwaine demanded hotly. "What did you see of his escape?"

Arthur met his gaze. "When we were attacked, he ran for the trees, as he usually does. I'm sure that he managed to stay hidden, and once the coast was clear he would go to Camelot."

Leon sank back down to the floor and leaned against the wall, clutching his bowed head. Elyan and Percival still looked horrified at Arthur, and Gwaine burst into a tirade of meaningless curses. Arthur stood stock-still, brow knitted stubbornly.

"It's not Merlin," he insisted.

Gwaine shoved past him, nearly toppling the king into Percival. "MERLIN!" he screamed, white-knuckling the bars.

They fell quiet as the echoes faded, listening for a response. There was none.

"Merlin?!" Gwaine tried again, a bit more quietly so that his call might be distinct.

Still there was nothing.

"He's unconscious," Elyan said, almost a whisper. "Or can't reply."

"Merlin, is that you, mate?" Gwaine asked again. He didn't know whether he wanted an answer or not. He desperately hoped that it wasn't Merlin, of course. No one wanted it to be Merlin who was subjected to such torture. It couldn't have been Merlin screaming like that. Merlin didn't sound like that, ever. Merlin would have talked Mystral to death before she could harm him. It wasn't Merlin. Couldn't be Merlin. Shouldn't be Merlin.

There was still no reply.

Gwaine slumped to the floor, hands still loosely wrapped around the bars. "If it's Merlin," he said in a harsh whisper, "I will see to it that the rest of your life is a living hell."

Arthur wasn't sure whether that was directed at him or the sorceress.

**A/N:** That was a lot longer than I expected it to be. And it took a different direction than I originally planned, but that's okay because the plot is essentially the same. Anyway, thanks for reading! ^-^


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Where the hell was their rescue?! Five days-or was it six?-was more than enough time to organize one and send it out! What in the bloody hell were they doing?

The prisoner in the farthermost cell's scream died away again, leaving him gasping harshly. Arthur's stomach clenched, revolting against the bread and water he had eaten a short time ago. He fought to keep it down.

At least Merlin had escaped.

The king of Camelot had no doubt that he looked haggard, possibly haunted. He hoped he was doing a better job at concealing it, though. His knights looked horrid. At least he and Leon, the only noble-born in the group, had been trained to keep their expressions schooled. If they, who had not so much as been touched in all the days they had been held captive, looked so bad, none of them even wanted to imagine the other prisoner.

The day before, the guards had brought them their meal, but had also taken water and bread to the last cell. So they weren't going to let him starve, Arthur had thought with some bemusement. He wondered if they were going to leave him alone, it seemed he had had enough. He'd had enough before the torture had even started.

The guards never came back. Hours after the knights had finished their meager meal, Mystral had swept by. She disregarded them casually, as always. Her voice resounded toward them softly, but her victim had yet to make a sound. But then, after only a few moments, Mystral's soft steps returned. She didn't stop to speak with them.

Gwaine's shoulders sagged in relief. The prisoner's torture was over, done. They didn't know what state he was in, but at least he wouldn't b-

The unmistakable sound of flesh being hit rang out, nearly obscuring the 'oof!' that accompanied it. It came again and again, a flurry of blows that were probably impossible to fend off. The guards were beating the man, and mercilessly by the sounds of it. But the prisoner didn't cry out. Perhaps he couldn't. But this torture didn't last as long as the others, and soon the guards left him be. A few minutes after, there was a scuffling sound, and then a hoarse cough.

"Ow, ow," choked the voice.

Gwaine was immediately at the bars, with Percival towering behind him. Elyan and Leon had stood with bated breath as well.

"Merlin?" Gwaine called. "Is that you?"

They waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. Only small hisses of pain and the telltale scuffling that meant he was moving around, perhaps trying to get a semblance of a comfortable position. After a few minutes of calling, Gwaine gave up.

The next day-or was it night?-Mystral was the one who administered the pain. They didn't want to acknowledge the buckets of water the guards brought with them. The sound of water being poured into a basin, and then the guards retreated with empty buckets, leaving Mystral to chant her healing spells. The sounds of a dead man drowning.

Mystral stopped to have a conversation on the way back. Her sleeves were soaked to the elbow. She told them nothing of importance-only a greeting, an assurance of their next 'meal,' and that the prisoner in the farthermost cell was ever-closer to breaking.

Then the prisoner had bones broken. The guards must have done it, since she had them in the room with her. Between screams, Mystral chose the next bone to snap. The words were clearly than they'd ever been, hardly echoing.

"First finger."

A crack, a scream.

"Second finger."

A crack, a scream, punctuated by a sob.

"Third finger."

Another crack, another scream.

And so on, until finally: "Tenth finger." The scream that was elicited never lost intensity in the pain, but it did grow hoarser each time.

Arthur desperately willed it to be over. Couldn't she see the man had had enough? He had to be broken by now. No man could last so long, endure so much! The king doubted whether he himself would have lasted the first day.

"First rib."

That had been yesterday. It had taken considerably longer for Mystral to heal the prisoner's multitudes of bones, if the length of her spell was anything to go by. Arthur was beginning to lose hope in ever escaping, and was just starting the process of resigning himself to whatever may come.

Perhaps she had run out of torture methods, because Mystral was currently beating the prisoner with a whip. His screams had become desperate, animalistic yelps.

Arthur didn't think he could take any more. It had been days, days of listening to agonized screams, days of waiting, days of knowing that something like that was happening, and that he could do nothing to stop it. Days of being held captive by a sorcerer. Gods, how he hated Mystral. He wanted to kill her. Wanted to torture her-and that was hardly something he condoned. He needed to escape. It seemed that help wasn't coming for them, for whatever reason. Gwen would be worried sick.

Arthur suddenly became aware of Gwaine's wrathful stare. He pushed himself to his feet, maybe too quickly, judging by the stagger, but he ignored it and forced himself to move towards Gwaine. In an instant Gwaine was on his feet, meeting the king's challenge head-on. The other knights merely watched them wearily.

"I'm going to kill you," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes at Gwaine.

Gwaine's eyes narrowed as well, but they looked much more dangerous.

Arthur turned and surveyed his men. "I'm going to kill all of you," he announced. "Right here, right now. No sense in waiting for this sorcerer to come fetch us for her games." The knights only looked at him, and he turned back to Gwaine. "Ready?"

Without waiting for a reply, Arthur wrapped his hands around Gwaine's throat and wrestled him to the floor. The knights didn't move, only watched. Their eyes betrayed that something was wrong, but if it was at their king's hands, they wouldn't stop him. Better than torture, they supposed.

* * *

><p>Mystral's steps approached, having finished flogging her prisoner. A small smile played on her lips. She looked forward to her daily talk with the king of Camelot. She stopped and met his stony gaze. But something was wrong, she noticed immediately.<p>

The king didn't react as her smile faded and her eyes widened in horror. "What have you done?!" she cried, her voice reverberating.

"I killed them," Arthur answered calmly. He didn't glance down to the knights at his feet, unmoving.

"Why?" she asked, desperate to understand. Her breast heaved, and she scrambled to support herself with the bars of the door when the floor pitched underneath her. "Why?"

Arthur only shrugged, looking at her with an unreadable expression. "Have you ransomed us?"

Mystral glared at him, then her eyes lowered to the knights. "They can't be dead, it's a trick," she muttered under her breath, staring hard at them. She could detect no movement of their chests. They weren't breathing.

A wordless howl escaped her lips, and she threw the door open with a flash of gold in her eyes. She dropped down onto her knees beside Sir Gwaine, who was sprawled on his side. He had obviously put up a fight, as he had been struggling to reach the overturned pitcher to defend himself. She pressed two fingers to his neck as she rolled him over, checking for a pulse. His skin was still warm, so there could still be a chance to-CLANG!

Mystral uttered an "Oh!" before collapsing, out cold. Gwaine and the other knights pushed themselves to their feet, gasping for air. They'd had to hold their breaths for a while, and it had been starting to affect them. Arthur pulled the door open the rest of the way.

"Move quickly," he said, "we don't know how long she'll be out."

None of them needed to be told twice. Gwaine was the first out the door, followed by Percival, then Elyan, and then Leon. Arthur slammed the door shut, more forcibly than was necessary. He knew it wouldn't hold the witch, but it made him feel a bit better. He turned and saw that Gwaine had reached the end of the dungeon, peering intently in the room.

"MERLIN!"

It wasn't the despair in Gwaine's voice. It wasn't the unwelcome confirmation that it was indeed Merlin who had bore such torture for almost a week. It was the fact that Arthur already knew deep down that it was Merlin all along that doubled Arthur over and made him lose what little contents his stomach had left. Elyan had taken off down the long hall to help Percival and Gwaine tear the door down. Leon hesitated at Arthur's side as he vomited, but was unsure of what to do. So he settled for guarding the stairs that led upwards to freedom. The guards could come at any moment.

Arthur's eyes landed on the sorcerer, the witch, inside the cell. The door was still unlocked. His ears roared like an angry animal, muffling the sounds of his knights screaming for a response from their battered friend. He ignored Leon's tentative, "Sire?" He slid the door open and went in, dropping heavily on top of the prone form. It hurt his knees. Good. His hands found his way to the unconscious Mystral's throat. Her head bled from where Gwaine had struck her with the pitcher. Good. He tightened his clutch, embedding his nails into her soft flesh. She didn't react. Somehow that only made him angrier. He squeezed harder, and she choked for air. Good. Arthur squeezed so hard that he was surprised her neck didn't snap. Or maybe it did, he just couldn't hear it.

And then she was dead.

Good.

But then Arthur had more pressing matters to deal with. Suddenly he could hear again, and what he heard scared him. He was scared because Gwaine, of all people, sounded scared. Arthur staggered out of the cell and ignored Leon, and he went as fast he could to where the others were. It felt like it took an eternity to reach it, probably because Arthur wasn't sure he ever wanted to reach his destination. He felt sick again, but he swallowed the bile back.

He stopped in the doorway to the farthermost cell. It was dim inside, but that didn't bother him since his eyes were already adjusted to the darkness. He'd had days to adjust to it. He was prepared to the see the torture devices in the room. Arthur realized then that it was a torture room less than it was a cell. Manacles lined the walls at various heights, and the bloodied ones in the middle told him just which ones were the prisoner's. Another pair of bloodied manacles hung from the ceiling. A table in the corner to his right showcased several devices-his eyes landed on the whip. It was a cat-o-nine-tails, lying ominously among the silver and leather of other tools. In the far corner was a metal basin, not unlike the king's own washtub. But this one was much more sinister.

Percival and Elyan were standing helplessly horrified in the room, looking down at two more figures. One Arthur immediately recognized as Gwaine, who was cradling a smaller person in his arms. He was shaking them gently, calling the person's name-it was a funny name, a bit ridiculous, actually-and pressing his other hand to the person's face. The limp figure was unresponsive.

The prisoner was thin, malnourished, definitely. He wore tattered clothes that really should have been gotten rid of long before then. They were as covered in blood as the man's own skin, which was marred and bruised and deathly white even in the gloom. His short raven hair stuck up in odd places, almost comically framing a pair of big ears. And then Gwaine shifted a bit, moving his hand, and oh. Oh. Arthur hadn't noticed he had moved forward until he had dropped to his knees before them.

A strangled whisper forced its way from Arthur's throat.

"Merlin."

**A/N: **Has anyone ever noticed how under-appreciated Sir Leon is? I mean really, he's been there through it all and gets like no acknowledgement! He survived the battle against the Great Dragon, but I bet he got left there while Merlin and Arthur went back. Can you say rude?

Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope it's not terrible. For some reason I feel like it is.

But you guys are so clever, knowing it was Merlin being tortured the whole time. I should have known I couldn't fool you! ^3^ I like you guys. That doesn't mean you have to like me. I mean, I did just basically bring Merlin to the brink of death about six times, all in succession. By brutal, unspeakable torture.

Oh, that reminds me. Next chapter goes back to the day of the kidnapping, and will be from Merlin's POV. This means this shit just got GRAPHIC. Just a warning, which I will remind you of in the beginning of the next chapter. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning:** torture

Chapter 4

Merlin groaned inwardly when a crossbow arrow struck a tree directly past Gwaine's head. Of course they were attacked, they were always attacked! Why couldn't bandits and mercenaries just leave well enough alone?

But even as he thought that Merlin was taking cover in the trees. There he could use a bit of magic undetected, as usual. The need would surely arise. He peered from his hiding place behind a particularly thick tree.

Arthur was fending off two mercenaries, for that was who they were, Merlin supposed. Gwaine parried a blow from another man, taunting him. Percival and Elyan were back-to-back, and if the situation weren't so serious Merlin might have laughed aloud at how ridiculous they looked. Leon had just taken out a man attempting to sneak up on the king.

Gwaine had left his back unprotected, and Merlin whispered a quick incantation. A stick snapped under the mercenary's foot, and the knight wheeled around with snake-like speed, gutting him. A shout drew their attention toward the others.

Merlin knew before he saw. There was a sorcerer nearby. In the blink of an eye, the knights and the king were down, unconscious. He recognized a sleeping spell when he saw it. The mercenaries moved forward and picked each of the fallen men up by the scruffs of their necks. Gwaine roused a bit, but that was quickly remedied with a kick to the head. Merlin winced.

Merlin followed them silently, keeping in the shadows and behind the trees. He thanked the muted colors he wore that helped him blend into the forest. Merlin stopped short when he saw that the mercenaries were tossing the sleeping knights into cages. They didn't bother to tie them up, or even lock the doors. Strange, Merlin thought. But then, perhaps it wasn't. They weren't going to wake anytime soon.

The cages, Merlin saw, were pulled by horses. For a moment, he changed his mind and thought they were slave traders. That would make sense, too, he supposed. He tensed himself, preparing a spell that would knock out all of the enemy. A crossbow bolt immediately deterred that plan, and Merlin whipped around to see another mercenary.

Before he had a chance to stop him, the mercenary called out to the others. Merlin cursed under his breath and rolled to his feet. His new plan! Right, he would lead them away from the knights, and once he let himself be cornered, Merlin would use magic. Then he would go back for the knights and wake them up and escape. If he ran into the sorcerer on the way, he would take care of him, too.

Merlin stumbled on an upraised root, but thankfully didn't fall. He kept moving. Then he felt the magical presence behind him. The sorcerer was chasing him, too. Merlin cursed and raised his hand behind him to aim a spell. It was sooner than he'd anticipated, but he didn't want to stray too far from Arthur. He spotted the sorcerer, a woman in white-So impractical, considering we're in the woods! he thought as he turned to face her.

But, as he was still running, he neglected to watch where he was going and his foot snagged an upraised root. A brief flare of pain in his ankle was overridden by the pain in his head when it struck something hard-a rock? Another root?-and he was swallowed by the darkness.

Merlin wasn't sure whether it was the sudden pain or his own agonized scream that woke him. Nevertheless, when his eyes snapped open to find himself in a strange, dark room, suspended by his wrists, he was more than a bit panicked. Then he remembered that he was in pain and looked down to see a knife protruding from his thigh. He screamed again when the pristine hand wrenched it to one side.

The young warlock couldn't breathe. His lungs burned, throat constricted. For a giddy moment, he thought that he was going to pass out again. But then the sorceress yanked the knife out, and Merlin sucked in a harsh gasp. He panted hard, limp in his bindings.

Once he had gotten a bit of breath back, he raised a defiant glare at the sorceress in white. She smiled faintly at him.

"Oh," she said. "You're awake."

Merlin scoffed and opened his mouth to retort. His eyes bulged when he realized that his tongue wouldn't work.

"It's a spell," she said calmly, understanding his reaction. "See, when I break my toys, I only like to hear their screams. You can't talk because I don't want to hear you beg, just squeal."

Merlin mustered all of his hatred into his eyes. His feet found the floor, and he adjusted his weight so that most of it was on his uninjured leg. The sorceress had stabbed him in the leg with the twisted ankle.

When the sorceress began to study him as though he were a prize rack of meat, Merlin allowed a quick glance around the room. It was a torture room, if the manacles and devices were anything to go by. The door was a thick set of iron bars. Most striking to Merlin, however, were the glowing runes scratched ominously into the walls.

The sorceress appeared at Merlin's other side, having walked around him in her scrutinization. She gazed into his eyes and followed the stare to look at the wall. "Ah, so you can see them," she said, sounding a bit pleased. "Most people can't. That means you have a bit of magic in you. But no matter. That doesn't change anything."

Merlin shot her an angry but confusion-riddled look. He knew that the runes were to block magic from being performed. That explained why his magic was not answering to his calls. But if this woman was a sorceress as well, why would she take him to a place where she was blocked as well?

The sorceress regarded him for a long moment, as if trying to read his mind through his eyes. "The runes block magic," she said. "They won't hurt you. Magic won't be used to hurt you." Merlin's eyes flicked to the table in the corner, where various torture devices lay in wait. The woman continued, "I put those wards up myself," she said. "But I made it so that I can still use my magic. The runes respond only to my magic, and no one else's. That's why I can do this."

Merlin flinched in pain when she pressed a cold hand to the wound on his thigh. Her dark eyes glowed gold as she said a string of words of the Old Religion, and then the pain was gone. She'd used magic to heal him.

He glared at her, but she seemed unperturbed. The woman turned her back to him and ambled to the table. "My name is Mystral," she said. "And I suppose yours is Merlin. I've heard about you and Arthur, you know. Are the stories true?"

Merlin stiffened at the mention of Arthur. If he was being tortured, then that meant that Arthur and the others were receiving the same treatment. He gave an experimental tug on his chains, but they held fast. Mystral turned at the sound and smiled knowingly. She picked up the knife she had used earlier-he hadn't even noticed that she had put it down.

Merlin once more attempted to move his tongue, but it was stuck fast. It felt as though it were glued to the bottom of his mouth, almost as though he had eaten another one of Gaius' potions that had caused his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth. That had been embarrassing, and Gaius had chastised him the entire time he had prepared the solution that would free him. Arthur had come in about halfway through, discovered the reason for Merlin's lateness, and guffawed while Merlin himself flushed crimson. Arthur suggested that they use the potion to keep Merlin from talking too much-Merlin shook his head, ridding himself of the memory. He needed to focus, focus!

Mystral hummed as she approached him with the knife, eyeing his body as though searching for the best spot to stick him. Merlin suppressed a shudder and closed his eyes. He needed to access his magic. He had to take out Mystral, which would be easy enough once his magic responded. Then he could go and find Arthur and the others, wherever they were. He hoped that they weren't being-His musings were cut short from the blinding pain, and he couldn't help but scream.

She yanked it out of his thigh, eliciting another yelp. Merlin glared at her, pressing his lips together. But Mystral only smiled, a gleam in her eyes. The boy saw then just how insane she was. Inflicting pain gave her a high, like a drug. Merlin had seen the effects of drugs on people (he was the physician's apprentice!), and some reactions were quite frightening. Addicting.

Mystral's eyes were roaming his body, searching out the next target. Merlin resolved himself not to give her the satisfaction of screaming. It would only encourage her. He quickly tried to find his magic again. Surely he, Emrys, was stronger than the wards used by such a petty sorceress? He could fall Camelot in one blow, call forth a Great Dragon, and use his magic without the use of a spell. But now it was failing him.

Another shriek was torn from his chest as the blade was plunged into his abdomen. God, that hurt! Merlin writhed, trying to escape the pain. He forgot that he had decided not to scream. Mystral pulled it free and watched the blood stream from the wound. Merlin shuddered, taking ragged breaths that only hurt him more, but he couldn't stop them.

Merlin was vaguely aware that he needed to do something, but he couldn't remember what it was. All he could feel was the pain. It permeated his very core being, washing over him wave after wave. His brain felt fuzzy and addled. Another pang wracked his body, and his thoughts became a bit clearer. Merlin had been stabbed, yes. Twice. As if to remind him, both his leg and his stomach let loose another ripple of agony.

Mystral pressed the sharp blade to Merlin's throat, and his breath hitched in his chest. She surely wasn't going to kill him now? She couldn't kill him! Merlin thought hysterically. He still had to protect Arthur, he had to fulfill his destiny! A bit of blood was drawn from a thin cut underneath his laryngeal prominence, and the knife was pulled away. Despite his pain, Merlin sagged in relief.

It was short-lived, however, when Mystral buried the knife in his chest, dangerously close to his hammering heart. It was impossible to bite back a scream, even if he had remembered to try. He wanted to ask why she was doing this, wanted to throw her away from him with his magic. But his tongue wouldn't work, and his magic had abandoned him. He couldn't even feel its familiar presence thrumming under his skin. It was gone.

"You have good endurance," Mystral commented, drawing the blade back out.

Merlin gasped for breath, his arms jerking at the manacles of their own accord. It was an animalistic desire to escape, to persevere. His brain suddenly remembered that pulling wouldn't work, and that he was hurting himself, and his arms stilled.

"I wonder how long it'll take to break you," Mystral said. Merlin wondered if she thought he was listening. Then he decided she probably didn't care whether he was or not; she was not in a right state of mind, after all. "This will be fun, I'm sure. Once you're unable to cope any longer, I think I'll play with that dark-skinned one...Sir Elyan, I think? I wonder how his blood is compared to yours?"

Merlin furrowed his brow, processing this new information. If she was making plans for the next victim, then that meant that the others were being held captive, but not being tortured. That was good, yes. There was still time. If Merlin couldn't escape, it was safe to assume that one of the others would, and he would be able to free him and the others.

He was distracted again by the white-hot agony of the weapon penetrating his flesh. God, it hurt! Why was she doing this? It made no sense! Why? It hurt, hurt, hurt!

The offending blade was removed and Merlin felt his muscles lax again. He hadn't even realized that they had tensed against the agony. His throat felt raw from screaming. His leg hurt. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. His shoulders hurt. Everything hurt.

Through the haze, Merlin could see that Mystral was moving. She went behind him. Was it over? He hoped so. Merlin didn't think that he could take any more of this. He just wanted to lie down and sleep. He wanted to put his head in his mother's lap like he had done years ago-was it really years ago? It felt like a lifetime now. But his wishful thinking didn't seem to deter Mystral.

Merlin arched his back as the knife bit into his flesh, right between his shoulder blades. Did he scream? He didn't know. It didn't sound like him. Maybe it was. The pressure disappeared after an eternal moment, and his body swung back down, having lost its energy. His face felt wet. Was his head bleeding? He didn't remember being stabbed there, but it felt like he had been. So Merlin reasoned that he was, in fact, bleeding from his head. If he hadn't been in so much pain he might have realized that it was tears running down his cheeks.

The pain came again, and again, and again. Merlin lost track of how many times it was, or where the location of the blossoming pain was. Everything had begun to blur together so that his only tangible thought was pain, pain, painpainpainpainpainpain oh god it hurts.

So out of it he was that he didn't even realize when it was over.

Mystral placed the knife on the table before going back to the limp form of Merlin. She placed a soothing hand on his chest, but to Merlin it burned evilly. She ignored his harsh gasp and violently jerk, and uttered a long healing spell. But she only healed himself enough so that the blood coagulated, preventing him from bleeding out. He wouldn't die, but the pure agony would remain.

Two guards came and unlocked the door, and Mystral followed them out. After a moment of vaguely listening to their receding footsteps, Merlin heard a murmur of voices. The first one was Mystral's, and even though somewhere in the back of his mind Merlin knew she wasn't speaking to him, he flinched. That only brought a horrible moment of dizzying pain, and never had he ever wanted anything more than his bed back in Gaius' chambers. He would never disobey an order from Gaius to lie still and relax ever again. Merlin choked back a sob. It hurt so much, and he couldn't pinpoint an exact location of his pain.

He heard a familiar voice, apparently arguing with Mystral. Why was it so familiar? He knew he'd heard it somewhere before. If he could understand what was being said, perhaps he might recognize it, but all he could really hear were the echoes of the sounds. His head pounded from the effort of listening, so he gave up. He didn't really care at the moment. All he could think about was how much pain he was in. Where was Gaius? Wait, they weren't in Camelot. Where was he, then? He couldn't remember, so he gave up on that question as well.

For a moment, he thought he'd fallen asleep. He wasn't sure. But he was hurting. His body wouldn't stop hurting. Why was he hurting so much? It didn't make sense. Oh wait. He was tortured. Now it made sense. But knowing why he was hurting seemed to only make it worse.

He needed to find a way to get rid of the pain. But his tongue wouldn't work, so he couldn't ask Gaius to make him a potion. His body wouldn't move, so he couldn't get up and make the potion himself. God, it hurt! So he did the only thing he could: he moaned, hoping Gaius would hear it and bring him something. Between his low pleas for help, his breath wheezed. He didn't like the sound of it, but it couldn't be helped.

Merlin just continued moaning in misery.

**A/N: **So, the first chapter isn't as graphic (or as long) as I planned. But that's okay, I think. It gets worse from here on out (the torture, I mean), so it could get more graphic. Anyone ever been stabbed in the thigh? Let me tell you, it's not pleasant. Okay, maybe I wasn't stabbed so much as I impaled myself on a sharp stick when I fell from the trampoline. It still hurt, and I couldn't think through the pain. Only scream bloody murder until my brother came for me-and he, of course, promptly fainted like a girl.

Anyway, thanks for reading! I really appreciate your time. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning:** Torture

Chapter 5

Merlin woke with a shuddering gasp. A cold hand had touched his chest. He knew whose hand it was. He forced his eyes to open, and his suspicion was proved correct: Mystral was healing him, eyes glowing gold. Merlin, despite his exhaustion, glared at her.

He was dimly aware that he should be dead. He had, after all, lost a lot of blood from a multitude of stab wounds. Even if Mystral had healed him at the end of it so that he no longer bled, there should have been some sort of complication. Infection, perhaps, but he did not feel the telltale burn of the fever. Not that he wanted to.

Mystral's incantation ended, and her eyes faded back to her dark, eerie irises. She gazed at him for a long while without speaking.

Merlin tried to concentrate on killing her with a hateful glare, but his mind was distracted. His shoulders hurt, but he could not feel his arms. He couldn't help but to scream when Mystral reached up and prodded his chest wound. He thought she'd healed it! The tortured man spared a glance down and saw that she had healed it, but only partway. It looked to be in the final stages of healing, the flesh puckering into a scar, but it was still very tender.

Mystral disappeared behind him, and he screamed as she prodded another wound on his back. Though he couldn't see, he assumed it was the same as his chest wound. A hand pressed hard down on his thigh, and again he couldn't stop himself. For a moment, he was sure she was using magic to enhance the pain he felt, but that thought was washed away by another wave of pain that radiated from his abdomen. Merlin sagged in his chains when she stepped back and studied him.

After a moment, Merlin forced himself to raise his eyes. He would be defiant to the very end, of course. It was just his nature.

"You must be wondering why you're still alive," Mystral murmured, turning to the table. Merlin's heart leapt as she began to examine the tools, but he forced himself to stay quiet. "You probably weren't aware of it through your ordeal, but I was using magic to staunch the blood flow. I healed your internal organs if I cut them, but I avoided them, mostly. Were you scared, Merlin?"

She turned to face him as she addressed the question, and Merlin immediately registered the whip held in her hands. It was a cat-o-nine-tails. The ends of each strip of leather was knotted to add weight. Merlin tore his eyes from it and met Mystral's cool gaze. Then he resolutely shook his head.

She smiled. "You will be, soon."

He heard the whistle of the whip flying through the air, then the resounding smack of it as it struck his flesh. Merlin cried out even before he felt it. The whip came down again, and this time the pain bit hard. He yelped again, like a wounded animal, and could not hold back a sob. Mystral brought down the whip again and again, and Merlin voiced his pain each time.

Pain, pain, painpainpainpain godswhywon'tshestop ithurtshurtshurtshurts painpainpain stopstopstopstop

Merlin wanted to tell her to stop, tell her how much it hurt. Surely if she knew how badly it was hurting she would stop? But Merlin's tongue wouldn't work. Why wouldn't it work? Merlin needed his tongue to work so he could stop the pain! Merlin tried to scream louder to convey to her to stop. But it only seemed to egg her on.

Behind him, Mystral's smile broadened. She relished in his cries, watching in glee at the rivulets of blood seeping from the lashes on his pale flesh. Mystral made the marks crisscross one another, struck the whip down on welts that had been made only moments before. When Merlin started to go limp, she chanted a quick healing spell to staunch the blood flow and seal up the skin, only to viciously flay it away again. When her arm tired, she switched the cat-o-nine-tails to her other hand, ripping into the flesh on Merlin's other side.

Merlin didn't feel the passage of time, only the agony. His vision grew dark around the edges. For a hysterical moment, Merlin thought he was going blind, but that couldn't be right. The whip was mutilating his back, not his eyes. The gentle touch of sleep touched the back of his mind, and Merlin rushed into its embrace, desperate to escape. The darkness enveloped him, and he knew no more.

When Merlin didn't cry out again, Mystral knew the fun had ended. She carefully placed the whip back on the table, murmuring a healing spell. Once she was satisfied that Merlin wouldn't die, she left him. It was time to speak with her royal guest.

After an indecipherable time, the darkness receded. The pain returned. Merlin didn't want that. He wanted to go back to sleep and never wake up. Why was he waking up? Didn't someone know that he wanted to sleep? Wait, he needed to escape, yes. That was why he was waking up. He needed to get away, find Arthur. Arthur and the others were stuck here, too. He had to help them.

Merlin tried to move, but white-hot agony flared up his back. He tried to make a sound, but found that he couldn't, not really. His throat hurt. It was so dry, so raw. The drought years ago in Camelot when Arthur had slain the unicorn was nothing compared to this. Where was Arthur? Right, he had to go help him.

But for some reason Merlin's body refused to obey. He wondered why. Oh, right. Oh. And suddenly everything came back to him: being captured, waking with his hands shackled over his head, the stabbing, the whipping. Oh god, that had hurt so much! A hysterical fear suddenly gripped him. Where was Mystral?

That was why he still hurt so much-Mystral was still torturing him. He had to tell her to stop! But his tongue still wouldn't work, due to whatever spell she had placed over him. Maybe his magic could counteract it. After a long, suffering moment, Merlin suddenly felt the soothing presence of his power rising from somewhere within him. His tongue loosened, and he knew that he needed to escape. He needed whisper a spell to shake off the bindings.

"P-please, no," was what came out instead. Even in his state, Merlin knew he sounded pathetic and weak, but he couldn't help himself. "No, no...Please...No more, p...please..." Merlin went limp again, his magic fleeting. He'd missed his chance of escape; his tongue went still again. Merlin inwardly cursed himself. If Arthur were hear he'd call him a girl, a useless coward. He almost laughed as he imagined that, despite how much it hurt.

He tried to move again. He had to save Arthur. Lords knew Arthur wasn't going to save himself. But the pain made his stomach heave, even though there was nothing to vomit. He couldn't breathe, it hurthurthurthurthurt-

The blackness came back, and Merlin fell into it.

Something brought him back. When he woke again, he was in considerably less pain, for which he was grateful, but he felt like he was missing something important. A woman's voice was saying something, and he focused on it. He couldn't quite open his eyes yet. Despite his pounding headache, Merlin managed to make out a few words, and his addled mind managed to piece them together.

It was a healing spell. That was nice of her, to heal him. He was in a lot of pain.

A hand touched his back, and then he remembered.

A low moan came from his throat, full of dread. Mystral had come back to hurt him. He hoped it wasn't another whipping, he wasn't sure his back would ever be in one piece again. Actually, Merlin hoped that she was going to heal him and leave him be, that would be nice. He wondered if his magic would come back so he could ask her. But it didn't.

Mystral stepped around to face Merlin, and he cracked his eyes open. She looked at him for a long moment, studying him. He stared back, trying to convey his pleading question with his eyes. She reached up and pressed a hand to his forehead, and it took all he had not to flinch back, lest that encourage her.

"You've a fever, Merlin," she announced. "Are your wounds infected? Do they hurt?"

Merlin furrowed his brow. Was she expecting an answer? If so, Merlin didn't know. He couldn't respond if he wanted to.

Mystral turned away, speaking under her breath, and Merlin tried to shift his weight. He wasn't sure whether he should be grateful or worried that there really was no feeling in his arms. He had to look to make sure they were still attached to his torso.

The room suddenly felt hot. Was that his fever? He looked over to Mystral, but had his question answered immediately. The fire grate against the wall had been lit. That was funny, though, since there were no logs. Oh, magic. Of course. Mystral was a sorceress. Merlin noticed that there were several pokers resting in the flames.

Merlin wanted to tell her that that wasn't how pokers were used. If she left them in the flames, the metal could melt or be warped. That would weaken the poker and it would have to be replaced. After a few moments, she pulled one out and examined the white-hot tip. Then she looked back at Merlin, who was watching her with a dazed look. He didn't seem to understand what was going to happen.

That was remedied easily enough. Mystral approached him with the poker. As she neared, Merlin's glassy eyes cleared and widened. His ragged breaths came quicker than before. Now he understood. But the fear wasn't enough. She wanted him to scream.

The poker was pressed mercilessly against his arm, halfway between his shoulder and elbow. Merlin shrieked, writhing in a way that only hurt him more. Blood trailed down his forearms from somewhere beneath the manacles. Oh god ohgodohgod. He'd thought his arms had lost feeling, so how could they feel the burn so acutely? It was horrible, horrible!

Just before Mystral pressed the poker to him again, she froze and cocked her head, listening to someone else's echoing scream. Merlin didn't know whose it was, but he was just so grateful that Mystral stopped. It gave him a bit of respite that he needed to catch his breath.

"Yes, Sir?" Mystral called.

Merlin furrowed his brow. Sir?

Mystral listened to a reply, then looked at Merlin as though asking his opinion. Merlin could only look back pleadingly, utterly confused. He just wanted her to stop. Then she shrugged, apparently not having heard his silent pleas, and the poker was firmly set on the flesh just under the burn she had already made. Merlin screamed again, trying to pull away.

Painpainpainpainpain never ending pain. Merlin had been burned before, in his fight against Nimueh, so he knew that the burn didn't stop just because its source had faded. Oh gods why couldn't Mystral just stop? Why wasn't Arthur coming for him? Oh right, Merlin had to-painpainpainpainpainpain.

Mystral almost laughed, taking a step back to survey her prisoner. The front of his trousers were wet, and the stain spread down his legs and puddled on the floor. Merlin didn't notice, too wracked by the pain to concentrate on anything but that.

The sorceress went to the fire grate and placed the poker back into the flames, then pulled out a fresh one. It was even hotter than the previous one, having been in the fire for much longer. She returned to Merlin, looking for a good place. Her eyes fell on his crotch. No, she wouldn't burn him there, but close enough. She pressed the poker high up on his thigh, less than an inch from his groin.

Merlin thrashed again, dislodging the poker for a moment before his body swung back into it. The smell of burning flesh and fabric delighted Mystral to no end. It was actually making her a bit hungry. She pressed the poker to the tender spot just under his navel.

Merlin's mind wasn't merciful enough to grant him reprieve immediately. It waited for hours, an eternity, until Merlin felt himself close to snapping. Merlin thought he might die from the pain. He was glad of that. At least in death he might have a bit of peace, maybe even see Freya again. But before he could die, the darkness greeted him. Merlin fell into its embrace gratefully, and knew no more.

**A/N:** I've been burned before, too. Not pleasant at all, I can tell you that. The pain doesn't tend to go away quickly, no siree.

Anyway, thanks for reading. I much appreciate it, folks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings:** Torture

Chapter 6

Merlin was being moved. For a moment, he was startled. But then he realized that the hands lowering him to the cold floor were gentle, and he couldn't hear Mystral. He tried to force his eyes open, and a small smiled graced his dry lips.

At last, he was saved.

"Ar'hur," he croaked, still having no use of his tongue. His bottle blue eyes finally cracked open, and he looked at one of the two owners of the hands. The smile faltered immediately, and he turned to look at the other man. He didn't recognize either of them.

He didn't want to be saved unless it was by the knights of Camelot, or the king. Hell, he'd even let Gwen help. But before he could tell them that, something was pressed against his lips. Merlin drank greedily once his mouth and mind registered that it was water. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was, having been too preoccupied with the pain in his body. It soothed his raw throat and filled his aching belly.

The water was pulled away, and something else put to his lips. It was bread, Merlin knew it from the texture and taste. He wondered briefly why he was being fed so kindly and gently, but at the moment he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He complied silently, accepting the bite-sized bits of bread and the small sips of water in between.

Merlin allowed his mind to wander from his task at hand. The guards helping him seemed to have it under control. He still couldn't feel his arms, aside from the burns on them, which would probably soon become infected. He tried to move his fingers, but he didn't know if they even twitched. He couldn't lift his leaden limbs to see the product of his effort.

The young man moved his gaze to the man giving him water. His eyes were dull and glassy-the eyes of a dead man. Merlin looked at the other guard. His eyes were the same. He furrowed his brow. Were they under Mystral's control? If so, the sorceress was more powerful than she let on. Merlin remembered the mercenaries who had captured the knights. Were they under control as well? He didn't think so. It would be nigh impossible to control so many at once. Merlin figured the men diligently making sure that he stayed alive were the only two Mystral controlled. She was probably a necromancer, and these two men were reanimated corpses - puppets.

Merlin didn't know how long it was that he lay there in the guard's arm. They continued to feed him slowly, patiently, as if they had all the time in the world. Over that time Merlin had begun to regain feeling in his arms, though he wished he hadn't. A painful prickling feeling raced up and down his limbs, and random cold, numbing flashes seized them. Any movement sent waves of pain coursing through them, and even when he did move it took energy he didn't have, and so he gave up.

It wasn't until he heard Mystral's familiar soft steps approaching that the dread and fear returned to him. He should have known the respite was too good to be true. The men holding him did not move. If they were aware of their mistress returning, they showed no sign of it. Merlin doubted they were capable of cognitive thought.

Mystral appeared, her stoic face warming with a soft, endearing smile as her eyes fell on him. But for Merlin, that smile only chilled him to the bone. Without hesitation, the sorceress approached and knelt beside him, ignoring his feeble attempts at scooting away. Her eyes flared gold as she outstretched her hand to Merlin's battered body, incanting olden words. Instant relief flooded through Merlin's body, and welcome though it was he could not bring himself to be grateful. Instead, he glared at her.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Mystral sighed, sitting back on her haunches as her eyes returned to normal. He narrowed his red-rimmed eyes at her in confusion. "I won't be able to stay any longer with you, at least for today. I have an important errand to run that really cannot wait any longer. I shall see you later."

With that, she stood and made her way out. She did not look back. Once her footsteps had faded, Merlin finally allowed himself to relax. He was still in pain, as Mystral never healed any of his wounds completely, but it was an almost manageable pain. He wasn't sure what her important errand was, but he hoped it took a long while. And that she was caught (or even killed) and never returned to hurt him.

Merlin was unprepared for the winding blow from the guard who had patiently been feeding him bits of bread. His head snapped to the side, his mind reeling in shock. It took a long several seconds for him to process that he had, in fact, been struck, and that the guard holding him had dropped his limp form to the floor.

The one who had just hit him reached down and pulled him to his feet. He was horribly disoriented, and when the ground spun beneath his feet he nearly vomited - but he was not given the chance to, as suddenly the guards were pummeling him left and right. They landed blows to his face, chest, back, ribs, and legs. He fell hard again, hardly able to breath even if he wanted to. Somehow he managed to make his arms cover his head, though it did little in the way of protection.

The guards stepped back, and Merlin curled into himself. His lungs burned with a passion rivaling the melted portions of his skin, and he couldn't seem to get enough air. Merlin didn't think he'd been hit hard enough to break any bones, but it still hurt like hell. It seemed to Merlin as though his very being was composed of pain. There wasn't a single spot on his abused body that did not hurt.

But just as quickly as they had stopped, the guards instigated the beating again. There was no chance of defense, no escape from their unrelenting fists and boots. Once in while one of them would drag Merlin to his feet, either by his hair or by his arm, both of which was agonizing. As soon as he was up, however, he would crash to the cold floor with a new bruise added to his vast collection.

Merlin didn't know how long it went on, but the men - puppets? - left him alone on the floor, dazed and bleeding. They did not bother to shackle him. Just as well, since Merlin didn't think he had the energy to even open his swollen eyes.

He lay where he was for a long moment, struggling to think past his throbbing, aching pain. He needed to escape, he knew this. But the question was how. Without his magic, Merlin was helpless, perhaps more so than a nonmagical person. Not to mention how beaten he was. Even if he somehow made it out of the cell, out of the dungeon, he was in no shape to fight. He couldn't afford to get lost, either. He didn't know where he was, or where Arthur and the others were. He was alone.

A lump formed in his throat as he realized that. Sure, Merlin had been alone on several occasions, but he'd always been able to rely on his magic. And on Kilgharrah, when he called. But his magic had abandoned him, and since his tongue was stuck Merlin could not call on the Great Dragon. Merlin was going to die, slowly and painfully, he was sure. He hoped Arthur and the others were all right.

Merlin tried to relax as he accepted his fate. But the slight movement sent a violent wave of pain throughout his body. He coughed harshly, then immediately after choked out, "Ow, ow." He tried to keep still to stay the aftereffects of the torture.

"Mer...at you?"

Merlin furrowed his brow at the echoes reaching his ringing ears. He struggled to listen past it, and before the sounds faded he recognized the voice as Gwaine's. Hope flared up in his chest, momentarily erasing the pain.

He pushed himself to his knees, hissing in pain, and slowly dragged himself to the door. Arthur and the others must have escaped, and were coming for him. Merlin tried to unstick his tongue, but it wouldn't obey. The spell was strong.

"Merlin?" Gwaine called again.

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. If he called out, he would not be able to form words. It would only sound like a cry of pain to Gwaine. Plus, now that Merlin had hauled himself to the cell door, he realized that if someone had come to rescue, they would have ventured toward his room and seen him. Gwaine, at least, was in the same predicament as he.

So he kept quiet. He felt a bit guilty for doing so, especially as Gwaine kept calling him. Merlin wasn't sure whether Gwaine was trying to ascertain it really was him being tortured, but if that were the case Merlin would keep silent anyway. If Gwaine knew surely, then he would probably hurt himself trying to get to him.

Eventually, Gwaine went quiet, too. Merlin rested his burning, aching head against the cool bars and closed his eyes. Unbidden, a few tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

Merlin didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke Mystral was healing him. The sound of pouring water drew his attention to the corner. He almost laughed. He found it funny that they were giving him a bath. Perhaps the stink was getting too much for such a refined lady as Mystral. He watched the guards carry the empty buckets away, shutting the cell door behind them.

Merlin felt a bit better having been healed, but he had a headache. It wasn't until he looked at Mystral again that he suddenly remembered everything. He blanched and tried to move away from her, but she quickly latched onto his hair before he got too far. Not that it would have mattered. Merlin had nowhere to go.

With surprising strength, Mystral hauled her victim towards the metal tub in the center of the room. The water looked cold, and Merlin didn't want to be anywhere near it. Just moving slightly was enough to send pain throughout his body, and he most definitely did not want to be shivering, even if it meant he would get clean.

Before his muddled mind fully realized what was going to happen, Merlin's head was underwater and the rim of the tub was digging painfully into his sunken abdomen, just below his sore ribs. The shocking cold instantly made him suck in a breath, which was a horrible mistake. He tried to expel the water entering his lungs and stomach, but more went into his mouth. Merlin struggled desperately, clawing at the arms holding him under, but to no avail.

Then suddenly he felt air on his face, and he choked for it. Merlin spit and hacked violently while simultaneous gasping for air. But before he could even feel a semblance of actually breathing, Mystral pushed him down again.

She watched him struggle with apparent glee. The witch paid no heed to the sleeves of her dress, which were soaked to the elbow. She also ignored his feeble attempts at clawing her, as he did little to no damage in his weakness. Only once he began to sag did she pull him up and allow him to sputter for a few moments. When he seemed to come back to his senses, she pushed him under.

This continued on until the last time she pulled Merlin up, and he went limp in her arms. Mystral patted his head endearingly. He really was much more resilient than others. She quite enjoyed his company. Once he was broken, Mystral would be sad indeed. But there was nothing for it.

She chanted a quick spell that expelled the water from his lungs and stomach, and then pulled him to the far wall, where several manacles hung. She gently lifted his arms and locked them into place over his hanging head. That finished, Mystral left him be.

So it came to be that much later, Merlin awoke in this position. Mystral was standing in front of him, he had immediately noted with a jolt. For a moment, his heart stuttered in fear, but when she did not move it slowly went back into regular rhythm, though his pulse was still fast. After a moment, Merlin became aware of the two other presences in the room. One guard on standing on either side of him, though they did not come bearing food and water as they had before.

Merlin was more than a little uncomfortable. He attempted to move his arms, and then realized that they were restrained above his head. The feeling had drained away along with his blood long before he had woken.

And yet Mystral continued to stare at him, as though waiting for him to speak. Merlin tried to move his tongue, but could not. So instead, he mustered up the last bits of his courage and met her gaze, regarding her coldly. He had given her too much satisfaction already. After a momentary staring match, a smile crept onto Mystral's lips. Merlin instantaneously regretted his foolish action. If he'd just been unresponsive she might have decided she was bored of him. But what that would entail Merlin didn't wish to think about.

"First finger," Mystral said.

Merlin furrowed his brow in confusion. That made absolutely no sense, it was - but then the guard to his left moved and took hold of his hand, and Merlin suddenly understood. The realization of what was going to happen only seconds before it did knocked the breath out of him. But somehow, despite having no air in his lungs, Merlin managed to scream at the awful sensation of his finger snapping.

He shot a horrified look at Mystral, who was gleefully grinning. "Second finger."

Merlin could not hold back his next scream. It was with the second finger being broken that he realized Mystral had no intention of stopping. At least, not while he was conscious. So he desperately tried to retreat within himself, to become unresponsive. But each time the pain of a new broken bone would bring him back, and he would vocalize his agony.

Once his left hand had been sufficiently mangled, the guard on his right side stepped in to repeat the process.

Merlin wanted to die. At least then he wouldn't hurt anymore, and he could go and see Freya again. He could see Will and Balinor, his father. He'd probably be able to meet his grandparents. He'd heard plenty of stories about them, but had never met them. As long the pain was gone, Merlin was fine with it. But then a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lancelot told Merlin he couldn't die yet. He still had work to do. Merlin tried to argue with him, but Mystral's voice interrupted: "First rib."

A boot to his side was efficient enough. At first Merlin didn't even feel it, so caught up was he in his wishing for death. But then the pain exploded in his torso, and he found that he could not breathe. He tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt, hurt so much he couldn't. All rational thought left him. Merlin threw his head back into the wall, arched his back, trying to alleviate the pain in his body.

Mystral watched in fascination as her victim's body writhed on the floor. "Second rib."

The next scream was a high pitched yelp, and Merlin tried to curl into himself. But he was unable to, being restrained as he was. Instead, there was a pop that made his arm twist around horribly. Mystral was delighted that he had managed to dislocate his own shoulder, and she motioned for her guards to leave him to be. She would allow the prisoner to rest. For now.

Using a spell, Mystral made sure that his shattered ribs had not punctured his lungs, and, satisfied that they had not, left him. She would heal him when she returned the next day. There was only a little time left. She did not intend to kill Merlin, quite the contrary. She wanted him to live. She wanted him destroyed in mind, but sound in body, aside from a few scars, at least. How would he live the rest of his life? Would he try to move on? Be stuck in a crippling state of depression? Would he take his own life? Mystral's morbid curiosity would not be satisfied until she found out. Once he was freed and returned home, she would continue to check in on him occasionally, in secret of course. Although, if he were to see her she was sure he would be considered mad.

Deep in her thoughts, Mystral almost forgot to stop and talk with the king and his knights. She was surprised that they had yet to figure out that she was torturing their dear little servant. The sorceress was also curious as to how they would react upon the discovery. Would they care for him? Leave him? From the stories she'd heard of Arthur and his precious servant, she wondered if seeing Merlin so broken would affect the king. She hoped it would.

The next day, Merlin did not attempt to move away from Mystral's healing hand. He hurt so much, he would readily accept any reprieve he was offered, even if just for a few moments. Merlin's mouth felt like parchment, but he didn't dare hope he would be given water. Mystral had come alone this time. Merlin was not sure whether Mystral had healed his snapped bones or just taken away the pain, but he did not care either way. As long as it was over, he was fine.

But it wasn't over. He groaned even though the magic used to lift him was gentle. Merlin wondered how someone as cruel and evil as Mystral could have such a soothing aura. He bit back a cry as he was once more suspended from the ceiling manacles, putting extra strain on his dislocated shoulder. He didn't remember receiving that one, but who was he to question it?

Mystral began to move. Merlin forced his burning eyes to remain open and followed her blurry form as she crossed the room. She stopped at the table, picked something up, and turned back to Merlin. His gaze dropped to the dreadful object in her hand.

Merlin shook his head, heart stuttering in terror and dismay. She had chosen the whip again. He hated the whip. He didn't want the whip. No, no, nonononononono. He tried to tell her, tried to beg, but his tongue still didn't work, and his magic was still missing. Merlin wished for death.

Mystral ignored his silent pleas for mercy and disappeared behind him. For a long, agonizing moment, nothing happened. The waiting only made the first contact worse.

He screamed at each strike, tears sliding down his cheeks. They were as hot and fast as the blood pouring from his back.

The sorceress continued relentlessly, relishing in the animalistic cries. She had the sudden urge to taste the crimson blood dripping from Merlin's body, but suppressed it. It wouldn't do to stop the rhythm she had going. She wouldn't stop until she had to, to heal to him and make sure he didn't die. Merlin passed out sooner than usual, which was a bit of a disappointment, but expected. She healed him minimally and went to have her daily conversation with her king. But something was wrong.

As Mystral was fooled into her death, Merlin was aware of nothing. He didn't care about destiny any more. He didn't care about Arthur. All he wanted was the end to come. Moments later, he got his wish.

**A/N:** Sorry for being later than usual. Finals are coming up, and college is kicking my ass.

To answer the question I received earlier: Well, there was no chamber pot or anything for the knights to do their business in, so they had to improvise. They used the water pitcher after they drank everything. Except for Gwaine. He peed out into the hallway because why the hell not?

Thanks for reading! The next chapter will go back to when the knights break into Merlin's cell and find him. I'll post it as soon as I write it. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Warnings:** Graphic descriptions of wounds / resetting of bones

Chapter 7

"Merl...iot, wake u..."

"...ot working, he's...get out...here, Sire."

"Sire!"

There were more muffled shouts, but Merlin could not distinguish them through the hazy film covering his mind. He didn't think the guards were arguing, as they had never spoken before. He also knew it couldn't have been Mystral. The voices obviously belonged to men. Perhaps they were the mercenaries from before?

The thought struck fear into his very core. If the mercenaries had come back, perhaps that meant the others were being taken away. Were they arguing about taking him as well? He hoped they did. Merlin didn't want to be with Mystral any longer, nor did he want to chance being separated from Arthur or the knights.

He felt himself being lifted by strong arms. Definitely not Mystral or her puppets, he was sure. This man was big. There was something familiar about the sensation, but he couldn't quite place it. His eyes wouldn't obey his weak command to open, so he couldn't see who held him.

The hushed voices pierced the thick layer of water covering his ears. He couldn't make out any words. A couple of the men sounded angry, while the others seemed more urgent. After a particularly harsh sounding articulation, everything fell silent.

Whoever held Merlin shifted slightly, rubbing the open lacerations on his back. Merlin tried to hold it back, but he whimpered in pain. The movement suddenly stopped, and he allowed himself to relax a bit again. He didn't think he was going to be harmed. For the first time in a long time, Merlin felt safe. Soft tendrils of sleep drifted up towards his struggling consciousness, beckoning him. He went.

Percival tried to adjust his arms so that Merlin was in a more comfortable position. Merlin's brow furrowed and he whimpered in pain, and the knight immediately stopped. Gwaine gave his unconscious friend a look as though the sound wounded him. Arthur angrily strode into the lead, every muscle in his body vibrating with anticipation. They cautiously made their way up the stairs leading out of the wretched dungeon, keeping Merlin thronged between them for ultimate protection.

Arthur halted at the top of the stairs. On either side of the entryway were the two guards that oftentimes accompanied Mystral. They were crumpled at their posts, and obviously dead. After checking their pulses just to be sure, Arthur took their swords from their belts and moved on. Leon took the other sword.

"We need to find bandages," Elyan whispered, shooting a furtive glance to Merlin. Gwaine had taken stride with Percival to support Merlin's lolling head, trying to avoid further injury.

Arthur nodded curtly without looking back. He stopped at the first doorway he came across, and was surprised to see it was a bed chamber. It was bare but for a neatly-made bed on the far wall, a single mirror standing near the dressing screen, and a dresser. "Take him in here," said the king after making sure it was indeed empty.

Percival complied, and laid Merlin as gently as he could on the plush down bed. Gwaine straightened a pillow before placing his head down on it. The men stepped back, unsure what to do. The state of their friend was horrendous, to say the least. He had lost weight he could ill afford to, and he had dark bruises underneath both eyes. What they could see of his body in the light streaming in from the windows made them feel sick. Burns, bruises, and cuts littered his face and body. His wrists were raw and bloody from the manacles. They couldn't see his back, but they were sure it was in equally horrible, if not worse, condition.

"We need bandages," Elyan repeated weakly.

"Leon," Arthur said from the doorway. It was then that they realized the king had not followed them inside. "You come with me, and we'll make sure there's no one else here. Elyan and Gwaine, go search for bandages, linens, water, medicines, whatever you can find. Percival, allow no one to touch Merlin."

Percival nodded, as did the others, and they all went quickly. They were all glad for the task. It both kept them busy and it helped their suffering friend. Each of them wished whole-heartedly that it had been he lying nearly dead on that bed rather than Merlin. Percival stood alertly at the foot of the bed, glaring at the doorway as though daring an enemy to come through.

Leon and Arthur continued down the hallway, followed closely by Elyan and Gwaine. There was only one hallway thus far, and the next two rooms were chambers similar to the first. No one else seemed to be around. They reached the end of the hall and turned the corner. The next corridor was identical to the first, though it split in two directions. The doors lining this hall were all open to reveal still more bed rooms.

"How many people live here, mate?" Gwaine asked under his breath.

"None, it seems," Leon whispered back, brow furrowed.

The small group reached the end of the corridor and split up. Leon handed his sword to Gwaine before following at Arthur's heels. The farther the king and his noble knight went, the fewer rooms there were. Bed chambers soon gave way to broom closets and an armory, and then a broad oaken door that led outside. Across the inky black moat was a forest, and a clear path wound through it. Arthur nodded in approval, and promptly turned back to return the way they had come.

"I think we're alone here, Sire," Leon ventured.

Arthur's face was stony, but he acknowledged Leon's statement with a curt nod. He refused to speak other than to give orders. Leon knew this behavior was caused by Arthur's guilt and terror for Merlin. He wisely chose not to comment.

Gwaine and Elyan, who had gone in the opposite direction, ran into no one as well, and had come to the conclusion that there was no one about in the place but them. The bed chambers had immediately been replaced with broom closets and small kitchens, which they raided for water. Farther down the hall was a physician's chambers, though it was hardly stocked. Unfortunately, there were no labels, and as the only one who knew anything about helpful herbs was unconscious, they left it be. They did take every strip of bandaging they could find, practically ransacking the room. On the way back, Elyan found a linen closet and loaded as much as he could into his arms. They hurried back to the first room.

Percival tensed at the sounds of footsteps approaching. He had, moments earlier, picked up a poker from the fire grate beside the door as a weapon. No one would stand a chance against his bare hands, but he wanted to make quick work of the attacker so he could ascertain Merlin's safety. The huge man immediately relaxed when he saw it was only Gwaine and Elyan, who had come back with supplies.

"How is he?" Gwaine asked.

Percival cast a look over his shoulder. "He hasn't woken yet."

Gwaine nodded. "Perhaps that's best for him."

Elyan leaned over Merlin and took a closer look at his wounds, despite how queasy he felt. "I think a few of these are becoming infected," he announced. Gwaine cursed loudly, and came to Merlin's other side. "We need to get him cleaned up."

"I'm so sorry, Merlin, my friend," Gwaine said forlornly, putting a gentle hand on Merlin's forehead.

But that was a mistake, as at the contact Merlin's eyes flew open. Through his panic, he didn't recognize Gwaine and tried to scurry away from him, reopening several clotted lacerations on his back. He hissed at the pain. Gwaine reached to help him, saying calming words, but Merlin didn't hear them. He batted Gwaine's hands away, and then cried out hoarsely when Elyan tried to keep him from falling off the bed.

"Merlin!"

Merlin stopped instantly, wild eyes snapping toward the door. Arthur hurried into the room, holding out placating hands to his manservant.

"A - Ar'hur?" Merlin asked, clearly confused.

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur said, taking Elyan's place at his side. "You need to calm down. We are going to help you. You're safe."

The king's words seemed to dawn on the man, and understanding filled his eyes. Merlin cast his gaze around at the men surrounding him, and seemed to recognize Gwaine, much to the knight's relief. Leon, across the room, set down the several leather bags he had been carrying. "We've found our things in one of the rooms," he said. "And the way out."

"Out," Merlin repeated. He never removed his eyes from Arthur's. "We nee' get out," he said. His voice was shot, hardly over a whisper. The grating sound tore at Arthur's heart. He remembered Merlin's horrible screams, but shook his head to clear it.

"We will get out, Merlin," Arthur said. "But we're going to take care of you first."

Merlin shook his head, looking like a lost puppy. "No, no," he said. Merlin knew he had to make Arthur understand that they needed to leave immediately. Merlin would have to reveal his magic, and tell Arthur that the wards Mystral had placed prevented him from using his. In his feverish state, he hadn't even realized that he was able to talk again.

"Merlin," Arthur said.

Merlin interrupted, still shaking his head despite the pain it gave him. "Hafta leave, hafta go," he said urgently. "M' magic is...I can't, m' magic-"

"I know, Merlin," Arthur said, suddenly looking as though he were going to cry.

Merlin stopped and gaped at him. "Ya kn-know we, we hafta leave, Ar'hur."

"It's okay, Merlin," Arthur replied sternly. "The witch is dead. She can't hurt you anymore. No one is going to hurt you."

The manservant only looked confused, still minimally shaking his head.

"Merlin," Elyan said, and got his attention. He held up a rag he had carefully wet. "We need to clean your wounds."

At that, Merlin looked down at himself, craning his neck forward. His eyes widened as though he had just noticed the horrible wounds, and Arthur cringed when he realized it probably was. But when Merlin looked up again he was shaking his head. "Hafta go," he said. "Out, we nee' get out."

His head fell back into the pillow, his chest heaving as though he had just run a mile. The blackness was creeping into the edges of his vision, and for the first time since his capture Merlin cursed it. He needed to explain that they had to leave. They didn't understand!

"M' magic," Merlin tried one last time.

Arthur placed a hand on Merlin's forehead. "The sorceress is dead. She can't hurt you. Go to sleep, Merlin."

Merlin tried to shake his head, but he was so very tired, and Arthur's order - suggestion? - sounded so very good to him...And with that his eyes slipped closed and he fell unconscious once more.

Arthur sighed heavily and stepped back once Merlin seemed to have drifted off. He clenched his fists to hide that his hands were shaking, and nodded to Elyan to start.

"We'll need to get his clothes off," Percival said softly.

"Is his bag over there?" Arthur asked Leon, who answered yes. Leon brought it to Arthur, who searched through it. Out came Merlin's borrowed-from-Gaius medicine bag. He set it at the foot of the bed and continued rooting through it. "Bloody hell, Merlin, you idiot," Arthur said, throwing the bag back down. Gwaine shot a glare at the king's back, but didn't falter in his task of supporting Merlin in his sitting position so Elyan could bathe his marred back.

Arthur stalked over to the pile of bags and dug out his own. He pulled out a clean shirt and a pair of his pants, then laid them beside the medicine bag on the bed. "Once he's cleaned up," Arthur said, "he can wear those. Until we get back to Camelot, so the idiot can get his own clothes."

The knights suddenly understood. Merlin hadn't packed any extra clothes, clearly expecting to have gotten back to Camelot on the day they were due.

"I'll get more water," Percival offered, leaving the room.

Leon had opened the medicine bag, hoping to find something to ward off infection. He squinted at Gaius' handwriting. He sighed. The names of the herbs were written on the tab, but not its uses. The knight didn't quite trust to ask Merlin when he woke.

Everyone in the room froze when Merlin moaned in pain. Once his breathing had evened out again, Elyan cautiously went back to cleaning a particularly nasty lash that intersected several others. The dark knight's stomach was churning, but he forced himself onward. Merlin's health was more important than his petty queasiness.

The going was slow and painful for all involved. Each of Merlin's small cries or gasps wrenched the others' hearts. Arthur swallowed past the thick lump in his throat. It was for that that he had tried to speak as little as possible. He just didn't trust his voice. Arthur mostly tried to avoid looking at his poor friend, who was being cradled against Gwaine's chest as Elyan tended to him. A pile of dirty, bloody rags was growing at Elyan's feet. Arthur felt a bit jealous at Gwaine's free show of emotion. Tears ran down his cheeks, wetting his thicker than usual scruff. One hand was absently petting Merlin's hair.

Percival came back with the water and set it near Elyan. But by that time Merlin's wounds had been as cleaned as they could under the circumstances, and they began the process of wrapping. They started with his torso, wrapping the first layer of bandages gently to accommodate his back, and then another layer to bind his broken ribs. He seemed to breathe a bit easier after that. The knights made sure to prop him up on a small mountain of pillows. Arthur and Leon tried to stay out of the way. They had the least medical training out of all of them.

Merlin's arms were wrapped yet. There was a bit of debate whether to wet the bandages for the burns on his arms, with Gwaine arguing for comfort but Elyan arguing for sense. It was eventually decided against because they were not sure whether the damp could lead to infection.

Gwaine was tasked with gently cleaning Merlin's face and trying to keep the fever down while Percival and Elyan carefully removed Merlin's trousers. Merlin opened his eyes as his injured leg was jostled, but didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings and swiftly fell asleep again.

The more Arthur saw of his friend's body, the angrier he became. He regretted killing the sorcerer so quickly. He wished he'd given her a few decorations. Arthur quickly shook the thought from his head. He needed to focus on getting Merlin help.

He forcefully averted his eyes from Merlin's legs, which were in nearly the same state as the rest of him. Arthur needed to decide on the next course of action. Should they all stay, or all leave as a group? Was Merlin well enough to be moved? He didn't think so. Merlin didn't look as though he could sit up, let alone walk. Carrying would be painful for him as well. Although Merlin had been so adamant to leave, Arthur didn't think he'd be able to. But Merlin seemed absolutely terrified - with every right to be. Mystral had hurt him in ways he didn't ever deserve. Arthur wouldn't wish that sort of treatment on his worst enemy.

Arthur considered sending a pair of knights out to Camelot. But they had no idea where they were at the moment, and roaming around in the woods where mercenaries had easily overtaken them as an armed group didn't sit well with him. But then, no one in Camelot knew of their whereabouts, and obviously had yet to track them down. Otherwise, Arthur was sure the rescue party would have come by now. Gwen would be worried sick.

"Merlin?"

Arthur sat up and looked owlishly over at the knights huddled over Merlin. He was moving, and the men were reluctant to touch him, especially after his earlier episode. The king stood and made his way over.

Merlin's eyes were half-lidded and roaming aimlessly. Elyan and Percival had stopped tending to his leg when Gwaine had said his name, and watched him closely for any sign of panic.

"Merlin, mate," Gwaine said again, removing the cool cloth from his head. "Can you hear me?"

His glazed eyes opened a bit wider as Gwaine spoke, and stopped moving about. He stared up at the canopy, and Arthur glanced up to make sure there was nothing dangerous. There was nothing. Arthur opened his mouth to attempt to wake his friend, but Merlin spoke first.

"Lan'lot?"

Each of them stiffened. Gwaine was the first to move, dipping the cloth into the water basin beside him and wringing it out. He placed it upon Merlin's head and leaned closer to whisper into Merlin's ear. Merlin didn't seem to hear him.

"Don' go, Lan'lot," he said, struggling to move. Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder to keep him still, and Percival and Leon gently held down his legs, looking sorry. Elyan, after a split second of hesitation, resumed his task of treating the burn below Merlin's bony hip.

"Merlin," Arthur said in the most commanding tone he could muster, "Lancelot is not here. You're delusional. Go back to sleep, Merlin."

"Lan...Lan'lot," Merlin repeated. "M' magic is...I dunno wh...Lan'lot, please help me!" His voice had risen to a hysterical pitch, and he had stretched his left arm up into the air as though the deceased knight were floating above him. Tears ran from the corners of Merlin's eyes, and Arthur and Gwaine had to hold him down. Gwaine too was crying freely.

After only a few more seconds of struggling, Merlin seemed to lose his strength and sank back into his pillows. His eyes didn't close, though he was obviously fighting to stay awake. Arthur picked up the water flask beside him and uncapped it. He pressed the skin to Merlin's lips and tipped it gently. Some water ran down Merlin's chin, but he drank. Promptly afterward his eyes slipped closed once more.

Elyan wrapped Merlin's leg as quickly as he could, and then they dressed him in Arthur's clothes. The fine outfit was entirely too large on Merlin's thin frame, but that couldn't be helped. It was better than leaving him naked. Leon fetched another blanket from the pile of linens they had found earlier, and it was draped over Merlin to keep him warm. His fever had risen, though he hadn't woken again.

The knights watched him breathe for a long moment, suddenly feeling helpless once more. They weren't entirely sure how to feel that Merlin had begged an apparition for his help. Even though Lancelot had been a dear friend of Merlin, he had been dead for a long while, and never mentioned after his betrayal of Arthur and consequent suicide.

"Should we," Percival started uncertainly, "Should we take him back to Camelot? He needs Gaius."

"I don't think we should move him," Gwaine said immediately. "You lot move out and fetch Gaius here. I'll look after him."

"No," Arthur said. "Too dangerous. If you're attacked, Merlin is at risk."

"Merlin's at risk no matter what," Elyan pointed out.

Leon cut in, "We don't know how far from Camelot we are. If we leave out to bring Gaius here, it could take much longer. Even if we make it back to Camelot from here with no delays, there's no telling how much time that would be, and then the time would double to bring Gaius back."

"If we take Merlin with us," Gwaine said, "it'll be painful for him, and he'll be open to the elements. Not to mention bandits and all the others bastards out there."

"We could wait until Merlin is a little better," Percival said.

"But there's no guarantee he will," Gwaine said vehemently, his voice rising.

Arthur raised his voice to stop the argument before it got out of hand. "If you'd all shut up for a moment, so I can think!"

Four pairs of eyes locked onto the king, who stood pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I wan' to go," said a quiet voice.

Arthur and the knights looked to Merlin in surprise. He was looking at Arthur through half-lidded eyes, but they were, for the first time, clear. The young warlock was quite lucid at the moment, much to their relief.

"We will go to Camelot," Arthur assured him. "We're just trying to decide the best method."

"I walk."

Arthur scoffed, only just containing an incredulous laugh. "No, you won't."

"Ah," Gwaine said cheekily, "don't think you'll be going anywhere anytime soon, mate. But I'll be sure to bring you plenty of mead while you're bedridden."

Merlin's lips twitched upwards, but he didn't reply. "Carry."

"That's no good, either, Merlin," Arthur stressed. "We've been captive for a long while. We're weak as well."

"Oh." Despite the utterance, Merlin only watched Arthur expectantly. He knew full well that Arthur was not going to leave him behind.

"Sire," Leon spoke up. When Arthur indicated he should speak, he said, "Perhaps we could find some sort of vehicle to transport Merlin. If we could find a cart, we could bed it and pull Merlin in it."

Merlin nodded in agreement. "Pull," he said, looking Arthur.

Arthur looked reluctant, but sighed. "Go and see what you can find."

Leon nodded, and Percival left with him.

"Ta'e me wi' you?" Merlin asked again.

Arthur looked down at him. He looked so pitiful and broken, and yet so hopeful. It made Arthur feel sick that anyone could find it in themselves to hurt Merlin like that. Hurting Merlin was like...like hurting a child. It was horrible.

"Yes, Merlin," he said, forcing an airy tone. "I suppose we will take you with us. I don't want to have to break in a new manservant after all, so you'd better get well quickly. I'll give you...one whole day off."

"One?"

"One."

Merlin was silent for a second, looking thoughtful. "One?" he repeated.

"One, Merlin. Must I spell it for you?"

"You can' spe', brat."

Gwaine laughed uproariously. It wasn't funny or clever, not at all, but it was so Merlin that his relief burst forth in the form of laughter. Elyan couldn't help but to join in, and after a moment so did Arthur. Merlin chuckled a bit, but it pained him, and the knights and Arthur immediately sobered up.

"One week," Merlin said after a moment.

"I said day, Merlin, one day," Arthur teased. His heart was soaring at Merlin's insistence. It meant that his mind was, despite everything he had been through in the past few days, relatively sound.

"Week," he said. "Will says so, too."

The smile on Arthur's face immediately faded. "Who?" he asked, though he knew exactly who Will was. It had been years since he had heard mention of Merlin's childhood friend from Ealdor. The one who'd taken a bolt to save Arthur's life.

"Will," Merlin said, his eyes sliding from Arthur to the empty space beside him. "He says...I shou' get a week." He smiled, though this time Arthur and Gwaine could see that he had lost a bit of his lucidness.

Gwaine wet the cloth again, feeling more than a bit put out. The fever still hadn't diminished.

"Okay, Merlin," Arthur conceded, losing his bantering tone. "One week it is. Drink this." He held the water up to his injured manservant's lips, and he drank greedily. Arthur had to tell him to slow down before he made himself sick.

As the king moved to place the water down, Merlin reached out and gripped the hem of Arthur's shirt. Arthur blinked at him and asked if he was still thirsty, but Merlin shook his head.

"M' magic," he said, looking upset. "I didn' me...I ha'...magic, Ar'hur."

"It's all right, Merlin," Arthur said.

Merlin shook his head again, looking more frightened than upset. "I didn' mean to be - betray you, Ar'hur," he said. "Didn' wan...wante' to tell you, but..."

"Merlin," Arthur said sternly. "It was not your fault. I do not hold you responsible for that witch's actions. I know she's done to you - at least, some of it," he amended quickly at the blooming horror on Merlin's face. "It was not your fault. You did not use magic."

"Not ang'y at me?" Merlin asked sadly.

"Of course not, you idiot," Arthur replied. "Go to sleep, Merlin." Arthur gently removed Merlin's hand from his sleeve and laid it gently on the bed.

Merlin nodded a bit, looking both relieved and confused, and slowly drifted off again.

Arthur sighed heavily, feeling frustrated. Why had Merlin thought Arthur would be angry? Obviously Merlin had had no control over the situation. He was the victim. Mystral had used magic as a form of torture. His scowl deepened. Had she said something to him? Or was it just Merlin's fever? Merlin had already hallucinated that two dead friends were present.

"We should do something about his shoulder and fingers."

Arthur jolted out of his thoughts, looking to Elyan, who had spoken, before directing his attention to the sleeping Merlin. It was then that he noticed his right shoulder was in an odd position - obviously dislocated. He winced, knowing it would be painful to put back into place. Then he looked at Merlin's hands. He had neglected to see that when Merlin had grabbed his sleeve, he had curled his last two fingers into the cuff as a means of holding on. All ten of his fingers were purple and swollen. Several were bent at odd angles. If they weren't set, Arthur knew they would heal as they were, and could have a crippling effect.

He rubbed a hand down his face. "I suppose we should," he said at last. "Have we got anything we can use as splints?"

"I'll look, Sire," Elyan said, turning on his heel.

Arthur met Gwaine's red-rimmed gaze. Behind the sorrow was steely determination.

"Shall we do his shoulder, then?" Arthur asked, though he hadn't meant it as a question.

Gwaine nodded. "Sorry, mate," he said softly, standing.

"We'll do it the way Gaius taught me," Arthur said firmly, making his resolve known. Gwaine nodded. Normally he would never agree, but this time it was in Merlin's best interest, as Gwaine had no clue what to do.

Arthur instructed Gwaine to sit Merlin up and lean his uninjured shoulder against the headboard, then lift his right arm slowly until it was horizontal. Merlin did not stir. Then Arthur had Gwaine take Merlin's dislocated arm and put Merlin's hand palm-down on his right collarbone, while simultaneously pulling his good arm toward him. Arthur gently placed his hand at the bottom of Merlin's shoulder blade, and his other on top of the shoulder. After a few terse moments of gentle pulling, there was a loud pop as the shoulder slid back into place. Merlin cried out, but thankfully didn't wake.

The king and knight worked together to lay Merlin back down, careful of his fragile arm. Gwaine retrieved a long strip of sturdy cloth to use as a sling, and strapped the arm to Merlin's body to keep it immobile. Then he sat and diligently tended to his fever.

"Can't find anything," Elyan announced upon his return. He looked around the room. "Perhaps we can just bind them thickly to provide a bit of support. Gaius should be able to do it properly when we get back."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you, Elyan, it'll have to do. Have you seen Leon or Percival."

"No, but I can go and check on them," was his reply. Arthur agreed, and Elyan left once more, glad to have something to occupy himself.

Arthur and Gwaine took one of the thicker sheets and began tearing them into long, thin strips. They began with the fingers that were already straight, wrapping them tightly and thickly to prevent Merlin from bending his fingers. That left three fingers bent at unnatural angles, and would need to be wrenched back into position.

Both men were dreading it. Merlin could wake in a panic, terror-stricken and wrought with pain. He could wake with his mind telling him he was back in the dungeon being tortured needlessly, mercilessly.

But in the end, they had to steel themselves and get it done. Waiting around did nothing to help Merlin. It was decided that Arthur would put the fingers back into place while Gwaine would be ready to assure Merlin everything was okay should he wake.

Arthur chose to begin with his left hand since only his ring finger was bent. He ignored his rolling stomach and gingerly took up Merlin's hand. Making sure a bandage was ready, Arthur slowly began to twist the finger back into position. The bone creaked ominously, and Merlin began to stir underneath him. Gwaine held him, and Arthur continued. He was glad the bone didn't crack loudly, sure it would hurt a lot more. Once the bone was relatively in the correct position, Arthur wrapped it tightly.

He sighed, trying to calm his nerves. It just wasn't right, having to do this for Merlin. Because Merlin should not have gotten hurt. Arthur always took it for granted that Merlin came out unscathed - he always did. Arthur gently took Merlin's right hand, and chose to begin with his little finger. After that he fixed the middle finger, that one didn't particularly cooperate.

Percival returned a short time later. "We've found a cart," he said, looking marginally happy. "It's long enough to lay Merlin in, and it had railing alongside so he won't fall out. The cart is sturdy enough, and two can pull it easily."

"Good," Arthur nodded, though he was still skeptical at bringing Merlin with them. But then another look at Merlin, with his pale, bruised face and the dark circles around his eyes and the slight furrow of his brow and the stuttering rise and fall of his chest, made Arthur's decision. "We leave at dawn," Arthur said, raising his chin. "Make sure the cart is as comfortable for Merlin as it can possibly be. See which direction that path into the forest goes. Perhaps there is some sort of marker for where we are."

"Yes, Sire," said Percival bending at his waist slightly before going back the way he'd come.

"Perhaps we can get him to eat a bit," Gwaine said suggestively.

"Was there anything in the kitchen," Arthur said.

"Besides bread?" was the knight's reply. "Didn't see anything."

"It'll have to do," Arthur said. "Stay with him."

The king went to the nearest kitchen and scavenged its stores. As Gwaine had said, there was only bread - a multitude of it. He filled a woven basket with as much as it could carry, and brought it back to the room. All four of his knights were there, and they partook in yet another meager meal. None of them were quite hungry.

Gwaine tried to get Merlin to eat after rousing him, but he had trouble chewing and swallowing, which worried them. Leon suggested dipping the bread into water before giving it to him. It helped a little, but in the end Merlin nodded off again without having much.

The knights took shifts with Merlin. Somehow his fever worsened during the night, despite their best attempts to keep him cool. Gwaine was reluctant to leave his side even for sleep, but Merlin woke during their argument and convinced the man to lie down for a bit. He woke several times during the night, usually from some nightmare or other, and at other times to ask for a drink of water. When it was Arthur's turn to watch him, at around midnight, Merlin spoke with him.

"Wa'er?"

Arthur immediately picked up the cup they had kept at hand and put it to Merlin's lips. He drank a few sips before turning away from it, and the king set it down again.

Merlin looked at him for a few long moments, eyes shining in the moonlight. "You kill'd 'er, you know," he said after a long moment.

Arthur regarded Merlin for a long moment, unsure what he was talking about. "Who?"

"Freya."

The king's brow furrowed. Freya? His mind tried to change the syllables to make a different name, but no matter what he came up with the name wasn't familiar. "Who's Freya?"

"She's dead."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, completely bewildered.

"S'not your faul' you kill'd 'er," Merlin said. "You didn' know."

The whole conversation was only serving to confuse Arthur more. Who the hell was Merlin talking about? Arthur tried to think of every woman he and Merlin had met. Most of them he disregarded, as she was not dead. Isolde was out. Gwen and Morgana, definitely. Mystral sounded nothing like Freya. He was just about to ask Merlin to explain who Freya was when he noticed that Merlin had fallen asleep once more. He let it go - for the moment, at least. Once Merlin was well Arthur would ask.

None of them had gotten much sleep by the time dawn came round. Leon and Elyan left to make sure the cart was ready for Merlin, taking with them several more blankets and pillows. Gwaine and Percival cocooned Merlin in his blanket, and Percival carried him out. Gwaine and Arthur carried their bags. In the matter of an hour, everyone was ready to leave the wretched castle.

The path they followed, according to a post a ways down the road, led directly to Camelot. None of the knights were sure whether to trust it or not, but it was their best shot until they could get their bearing or come across a village. Merlin was pulled in the cart, and the knights took turns in pairs pulling it. Despite their best attempts at keeping it steady, an occasional bump jostled poor Merlin and he cried out in pain, and they stopped for him.

By nightfall they had only made it a few miles, and Merlin's fever had not gotten better. This time Arthur, Elyan, and Percival tried to make sense of the herbs in Merlin's medicine bag, but failed. Gwaine haughtily took over from them, but he too knew nothing of them. When they asked Merlin, he had pointed out what did what, but just before they tried to give it to him he suddenly seemed unsure and they gave up.

The next day, when the sun reached its peak, thundering hooves approached them. Each of the knights leapt into action and surrounded Merlin, unsheathing their recovered swords. Then the on comers were upon them.

**A/N:** I have no idea what possessed me to write so much in such a short period of time, but here you go. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The next day, when the sun reached its peak, thundering hooves approached them. Each of the knights leapt into action and surrounded Merlin, unsheathing their recovered swords. Then the on comers were upon them.

"Halt!" cried a familiar voice. "Arthur?"

"Guinevere?" Arthur immediately lowered his sword, gaping at the regal appearance of his wife. She was dressed in a riding cloak and a crimson embroidered dress. Her dark curls were tightly braided down her back. Accompanying her were four armed knights and Gaius, who all reigned back their horses.

Gwen immediately dropped down from her steed and rushed into her husband's embrace. "Are you all right?"

"What on earth are you doing here?" Arthur spluttered, pulling away and sheathing his sword. The other knights followed suit. "You should not have come with the search party. You're the queen!"

"Search party?" Gwen furrowed her brow in confusion. "We've come with your ransom, as per the captor's orders."

"Ransom?" This time it was Arthur's turn to be confused.

"Never mind all that," Gwaine interrupted. "Gaius, help Merlin!"

The old physician had immediately missed his ward upon their approach. At Gwaine's words, his eyes were immediately drawn to the cart. Dread filled his stomach, but he quickly pushed it down and got off of his pony as quickly as he was able.

"What's happened?" Gwen asked, immediately concerned. She too went to the cart, and gasped in horror. "Merlin!"

Arthur came to her side and tried to pull her away when Gaius climbed into the cart and removed the blankets from the young man. She jerked her arm away and went to Merlin's other side, ready to help.

"He has a fever," Gwaine was explaining. "We've been trying to keep it down, but it's not working so well. He's been..." His voice cracked and he trailed off, shamefully averting his gaze.

But Gaius didn't need to be told once he had lifted Merlin's shirt. It seemed every inch of him was covered in makeshift bandages. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I can't do much for him here. I'll be better able to help him once we get back to Camelot. For now, we'll need to make camp so I can redress his wounds and give him medicine."

"Right, then," Arthur said. He turned to the newly-arrived knights. "Find a place for camp and set up. Preferably where we can get the cart to it, and easy to fend off attackers."

"Yes, Sire," said several knights in unison. They turned and went back the way they had come.

Gaius, with a lending hand from Percival, climbed back out of the cart. Gwen looked as though she were going to cry, but the dam held steady, and her chin was raised high. "Let us go, then. We'll need water. There's a stream not far from here."

"What's happened while we were," Arthur searched for the right word, but Gwen chose one for him: "Captured?" she offered. "When you didn't come back the night you were due, we were a bit worried, but decided to wait another day in case you were running a bit behind. When you still did not return, we sent several patrols out to intercept you, but they all came back with no word.

"A day after that, a letter arrived with your ransom. It was a very steep price, for you and all of the knights, but easy enough to get. We brought extra, in case the price rose when we arrived, or in case we needed to pay for...for Merlin, too. The letter stated directions to a castle not far from here, where we would meet and make the exchange. The letter promised that you'd all be unharmed," she whispered the last bit fiercely, angry betrayal burning in her eyes.

"I see," Arthur replied. "We were told that we weren't being ransomed."

Gwen's brow furrowed more deeply. She was obviously upset, so Arthur drew her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. She sighed and relaxed into his embrace. "Why was Merlin treated so horribly?" she asked, tears burning the backs of her eyeballs.

Arthur hesitated.

"If it's all the same, Gwen," Gaius said from his brisk pace slightly ahead of them without looking back, "perhaps Arthur's story should wait until I've better cared for Merlin. I need to hear it as well. It would give Arthur and the knights time to collect their thoughts."

"Of course," Gwen said.

One of the knights returned, saying that they had found a good place for camp near the stream. With that, Merlin's cart was pulled off the path and carefully maneuvered through the trees. The wheels constantly stuck on roots and dips in the ground, jostling Merlin. He woke several times, disorientated and confused, and unable to recognize his friends. Each time he would not be consoled, and he fell back into unconsciousness after a feeble attempt at fending them off.

With more than a little struggle and several stops, the cart made it to the clearing the knights had found. By the time they had arrived, the sun was lowering toward the trees, and a fire had already been started. The horses were being tethered and cared for nearby, and a few knights set out to the stream to refill water skins, start a stew for dinner, and to bring to Gaius so he could care for his patient. It was decided that Merlin would remain in the cart, as it was most comfortable for him. They needed to move him as little as possible until they got back to Camelot to avoid aggravating his wounds.

Gwen stepped in to help Gaius, as she had some experience. The knights were content to fetch things for Gaius when he called for them, despite having been told several times to rest. The old physician unwound all of Merlin's wrappings ("Oh, my boy, why is it always you?" he'd lamented more than once) and cleaned them again. Several burns and lacerations on his back had become infected. The burns sported pussy blisters that oozed when touched. Gaius had to wipe them firmly to detach the infected skin, and Merlin woke in a panic from the pain of it and had to be held down. Several salves had been premade before the trip to retrieve the men, but more had to be made due to the sheer amount needed to treat Merlin.

It took several long hours. By the time Gaius had finished doing his best under the circumstances, it was nearly sundown, and the stew was ready. The old court physician forced the knights and king to eat, though they had little appetite. After Gaius himself had eaten and the stew had cooled, he poured some of the leftover broth into a cup and went back to Merlin. With much cajoling on Gaius' part, Merlin woke and was lucid enough to sip at it. Between drinks Gaius would slip a bit of fever and pain tonic down his throat. Merlin shuddered at the taste, but Gaius would give him more broth to counteract it. Once he had drank all of it, Gaius bid him sleep and went back to the fire and settled himself as comfortably as his old bones could get. He knew it was going to be a long story.

Arthur explained their capture, and Mystral and her two guards. He told them that they'd been told they would not be ransomed, but tortured and killed when the sorceress felt like it. Once a day they were given bread and water, and only once in all of their six days imprisoned had Merlin been fed. Arthur angrily confessed that they had been helpless, and that Mystral used her magic to heal Merlin before each new torture. Merlin had been whipped horribly, and branded, and then beaten, then drowned, and had had his bones systematically broken. The day they had escaped, Merlin had received another violent whipping. He never had mercy, Arthur explained. He told how they had tricked Mystral, and her demise, and that the guards seemed to have died with her. He said that Merlin had hallucinated several times about Lancelot and Will (though he conveniently left out Freya), and had trouble eating and speaking.

Gaius seemed troubled when he heard of Merlin's difficulty speaking and eating, and went back to check for the problem. He hoped it was from exhaustion. After a moment, he came back and said, sounding quite tired, that Merlin's jaw had been fractured. It had probably happened during his beating from the guards. The old man's heart ached for his ward. It seemed his destiny was determined to drag him through the deepest pits of hell in order to protect Arthur. Gaius frowned, wondering why on earth why Merlin hadn't used his magic.

As if on cue, Merlin cried out behind them. Gwaine was the first on his feet, rushing to Merlin's aid. There was a loud crash somewhere in the darkness nearby, and every knight drew his sword. Several men closest to the fire yelled in alarm when the flames flared up. A tree branch fell, nearly crushing Percival. Gaius immediately understood what was happening and hobbled to Merlin.

Merlin's eyes were squeezed shut, as he was seeing some nightmare his mind had conjured. Whatever he saw terrified him, and he struggled against Gwaine's helping hands. Arthur shouted orders to fend off the invisible attackers, making a large throng around the cart, where Gwen and Gaius had been herded.

"Merlin," Gaius said urgently, appearing at his side. "You must stop now."

The young warlock didn't seem to hear his mentor, and shoved his gnarled hands away from him. Gwaine wrapped his arms around Merlin's body, pinning his arms to his sides. He cried out in pain, and though Gwaine looked sorry for it he did not let go.

"Merlin," Gaius said firmly, placing a hand on either side of his ward's battered face. "Look at me. Open your eyes. You are safe."

"No, no," Merlin sobbed, shaking his head in an attempt to escape Gaius' gentle grasp. "St-st'p!" He arched his back and kicked listlessly, tangling the blanket around his legs. "P'ease! Hur's, 't hurts! No!"

"Merlin, mate, wake up," Gwaine pleaded, putting a hand on Merlin's head to hold it steady. Tears were threatening to spill down his cheeks again. He was suffocating from the heart-wrenching pain he was feeling. He prayed to any god who would listen to grant his wish at being the one lying in Merlin's place.

A strong gale of wind tore through the clearing, whipping the branches of trees about and kicking up a flurry of leaves. The knights turned in the direction it came from, but it constantly switched, snatching at everyone's hair and clothes. Gwen raised her arms to shield herself, shrieking in surprise. Gaius was the only who did not react to it, as he was solely concentrated on the unwitting cause of the anomalies.

"Merlin," Gaius tried again, leaning down to speak into his ward's ear. This was partially so that Merlin could hear him over the roar of the wind, and partially so that others could not. "Arthur is in danger, you must wake up."

The wind instantly disappeared. Merlin was struggling to sit up, looking around wildly. "Ar'hur!" he gasped. Gaius felt bad for lying, but it was the only way he knew of waking him from his nightmare.

"I'm here, Merlin," Arthur called over his shoulder, though his eyes scanned the dark trees for the nonexistent enemy. "Just lie still. You're safe."

Merlin had craned his neck in the direction of Arthur's voice, but was still unable to see him. His eyes locked onto Gwaine. "Gw'ne?"

The knight smiled and relaxed a bit. "I know my hair's a bit long," he quipped, "but it's not so pretty as Gwen's. Nice to be mistaken for her, though." He'd tried to lighten the mood, but regretted it when Merlin only seemed more confused. "It's me, my friend," he amended soberly.

"I think they're gone," Elyan said quietly.

The other knights seemed to agree, but still held position warily.

Merlin was looking around, trying to catch sight of Arthur. Upon turning his head the other way, he met Gaius' gaze. Quick communication through their eyes informed Merlin that he'd accidentally used magic, and that Arthur really wasn't in any danger. The young warlock sagged into Gwaine's arms. Gwaine gave Gaius a startled expression, thinking that Merlin had passed out again.

Gaius helped him lie back onto his pillows, and gave him a drank of water from the flask they kept nearby for that purpose. The knights surrounding them broke off into pairs and ventured out to scout the perimeter of the camp to make sure it truly was safe. Gwaine went, too, albeit reluctantly. Arthur, Percival, and Leon stayed behind to guard the others in case it was not.

"Go back to sleep, Merlin," Gaius said gently, reaching down and untwisting the blanket so that it was not constricting the man.

Merlin shook his head minutely. Arthur caught himself looking and shook his own head, reprimanding himself. Danger could still be lurking. He needed to focus.

But he couldn't stop himself from hearing the exchange between Gaius and his manservant. Though he couldn't make out Merlin's quiet mumbling, Gaius' replies were clear as day: "Yes, I'm here...Yes, this is all real, Merlin...Yes, Arthur and the knights are fine, they're here, too...No, we've made camp for the night. We're going back to Camelot tomorrow...Arthur and the others are fine, Merlin, now go to sleep. You need your rest."

Arthur clenched his jaw, struggling to hold back tears. He wasn't sure how to feel. Merlin was the one who was horribly hurt, and apparently unsure whether he was saved or simply dreaming it. And his insistence on knowing if Arthur and his knights were all right only served to make him feel more guilty. He was fine. The knights were fine. Why couldn't that idiot just worry about himself for once? He wanted Merlin to be selfish. His loyalty and kindness would be the death of Arthur, it just hurt so damn much. It wasn't fair.

Gwen seemed to sense her husband's distress and wrapped her arms around his midsection, burying her face into his back. "I think they're gone, Arthur," she said, voice slightly muffled. The knights, having found no threats, were returning.

"Double the watch guard tonight," Arthur ordered.

"Ar'hur?" called a weak voice. It suddenly reminded Arthur of a mewling kitten he had once found as a boy. Despite taking it to Gaius and trying to care for the runt, it had died.

Arthur shook his head and swallowed past the lump in throat, spinning on his heel and going to Merlin. "I'm here, Merlin," he said, leaning over him.

"S'rry, 'bout th' magic," he mumbled tiredly. Then his eyes slipped closed and his breathing evened out slightly.

Arthur raised his exasperated eyes to Gaius, who looked back at him an arched eyebrow. "He keeps apologizing for magic," he said vehemently. "As if it were him wielding it. He's such an idiot." Arthur shook his head, hiding his concern with crossness, and stalked toward the now calm fire.

"Gaius," Gwen said tentatively, looking down at Merlin sadly. She brushed his black locks back from his sweat-sheened forehead. "Will he be all right, you think?"

The old man regarded his ward for a long moment. "I think he will be, with time," he said after a pregnant pause. "I'll be more certain once his fever has passed."

Gwen nodded, though she didn't look relieved. "How could anyone be so cruel?" With a heavy sigh, she leaned over and pressed her lips to Merlin's brow, wishing him to get well quickly. Then, offering a small smile to Gaius and receiving one in return, she left to go to Arthur.

For at least the time being, Gaius and his ward had been left to themselves, and he stayed in his vigil over the boy who had been like a son to him. A sigh escaped his lips when he thought of how to inform Hunith of what had come to pass. No doubt she would come to visit him immediately. Gaius only hoped that by the time she'd arrived her son would have gotten better. He knew Merlin hated to let his mother see him hurt.

Gaius wet a folded strip of cloth and placed it gently on Merlin's burning brow. He needed to be kept cool, but the infections in his wounds would pose a problem. What he needed was a proper bed back in the physician's quarters, where he could be well cared for. Six days, Gaius remembered. Six days for the infection to fester, to ravage his poor nephew's body and mind. In the grasp of the sickness, Merlin seemed quite docile and shaken, but in his troubled sleep he was frightened and hurt. Gaius hoped that when he had healed, his mind would heal with it, but many torture victims never came out unscathed. Even if they appeared to have been fine at first, they often broke down later, be it days, months, or even years. Some never were quite the same.

Perhaps, said a hopeful voice in the back of his mind, Merlin would be different. He always comes back. Always.

Merlin fitfully turned his head to one side, causing the wet cloth to slip from him and onto his pillow. Gaius patiently picked it up, wet and wrung it again, and gently wiped the young man's face. Merlin would get better, he was sure. He always did.

**A/N:** Whew, I have a final in an hour, but I really wanted to get this out of my head so I could study a bit more. It's history today, from the beginning of time (not really, but basically) to 1660. Fun, fun, fun.

Thanks for reading, and I'll update as soon as I write the next chapter! ^-^


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The rest of the night passed without incident. Gwen came to relieve Gaius of his watch with the promise to wake him if Merlin did, and then Elyan relieved her for a while. Replacing him was Gwaine, and then Leon. Even Arthur took his turn, supplying a lame excuse along the lines that he couldn't sleep and might as well take watch to pass the time. At dawn, Percival was the one watching over him. Merlin had slept through the night, much to all's relief.

Gaius, when another stew had been made for breakfast, woke Merlin to sip some broth. Gwen had to hold him up as he was too weak, propping his head up with her bosom and supporting his hurt shoulder with a soft hand. After Merlin had finished it off, Gaius fed him a pain and sleeping tonic so he would sleep through the journey. The warlock slipped easily into slumber, and the knights packed up and trekked back to Camelot.

The cart was heaved back to the road with more than a little difficulty, though this time Merlin did not rouse. The horse that had been brought for Merlin was tasked with pulling her owner behind her, and the others mounted their rides. They set off at a brisk pace, eager to get home.

At sundown, Sir Leon pointed up ahead, where just over the canopy of the trees the white towers of Camelot's walls could be seen. For a moment Arthur's shoulders sagged with relief, but a second later they were straight again. If anyone noticed that they had again picked up pace they said nothing.

When they arrived at the stables, the atmosphere was darkening. Percival jumped off his horse, tossing the reigns in the direction of an oncoming stable hand, and immediately went to Merlin. Gaius clearly trusted the knight enough to handle his ward gently, as once his feet were firmly planted on the ground he was hobbling toward the stairs that led to his chambers. Arthur wanted to follow, but Gwen put a hand on his shoulder.

"You should return to your chambers and rest," she said softly. "If Merlin wakes, I'll send for you. Gaius will have me to help." The fact that Arthur would be in the way went unspoken, but the implication was there nonetheless.

Arthur nodded curtly and strode off towards his chambers. Without undressing or even removing his boots, Arthur fell face-first into his bed, which had remained exactly as Merlin had left it the morning of their departure: hastily made, and only halfway tucked with the pillows arranged helter-skelter. The king's chest ached. He tried to tell himself it was that he was so hungry even his heart was telling him to eat. But still he made no move toward the table, where a bowl laden with fruits had been placed probably moments prior to his arrival.

He made up his mind that he would check on Merlin first thing in the morning, even before his council meeting. With that, his mind finally felt as ease enough to allow his exhaustion to catch up with him. Arthur's eyes grew heavy, and he was swiftly asleep.

* * *

><p>Merlin felt hot. It was really too hot, but at the same time he was underwater. Were they boiling him alive? That was a strange torture. But if he were in boiling water, then who was touching him? Were they unaffected by the scalding? And yet Merlin knew he was underwater because he could hear someone speaking, voice muddled. More hands were touching him. The guards?<p>

He tried to force his eyes open to see, but they wouldn't cooperate. Merlin was beginning to become aware of how thirsty he was. His throat was dry and parched. So he wasn't underwater. Sluggishly, his mind became more lucid and he was able to think a little more clearly. Yes, he could feel his magic again. That was a good sign. It meant that he was away from Mystral's dungeon. Had he been rescued?

If he had, then he supposed whoever was touching him might give him some water to drink. If he could open his mouth and ask for it, that was. He hoped they had some. He was feeling awful. When he parted his lips all that came out was a soft but painful cough. Merlin screwed his face up at the pain, feeling all the more miserable. If he'd been rescued, shouldn't the pain have gone away?

A hand on the back of his head lifted it a bit, and Merlin felt something pressed to his lips. Gratitude swelled in his breast when he realized that he was being given water. He drank greedily. The cool water that trickled from the corners of his mouth provided a bit of relief to his burning skin, and what he swallowed soothed his sore throat. He'd never been so grateful for water, not even when the drought had hit Camelot after Arthur killed the unicorn.

Arthur.

The name was enough to force Merlin's eyes open a crack, though everything was blurry. He moaned, trying to convey his concern for his king, but whoever had him misinterpreted it and put the cup to his lips again. Merlin moved his head away from it and struggled to sit up. He felt the movement pull at his wounds, and it hurt horribly, but he forced himself on. He had to get to Arthur. It was his Destiny.

Gentle hands were on his shoulder, keeping him lying down. He tried to speak again, but his voice could only seem to croak. Damn, when he needed a healing spell there was no one to use it on him! Merlin heard a familiar voice murmur something in that underwater way, and suddenly he was rolled onto his left side. Growing more frustrated by the moment, Merlin kicked his feet and swung his hurt arm to try to force whoever held him off. When that didn't work, he allowed his magic to lash out, though only a small amount as a form of a warning. He heard something nearby smash.

"Mer...op that now, you are all right!"

Suddenly sound was very clear. Merlin's eyes snapped open and a sharp intake of breath that filled his lungs sent him into a coughing fit. Through watery eyes Merlin looked around and recognized his surroundings as Gaius' chambers. Gaius was looking down at him in concern, a steadying hand on his shoulder. Merlin cast a look down toward his feet and saw Gwen wearing a worried expression as well. He raised his eyes back up to Gaius questioningly.

The old physician sighed. "Everything is all right, Merlin," he said. "And everyone is all right. Arthur and the knights have been sent back to their own chambers to rest, since they were all well."

Merlin sagged back onto the patient cot, dizzy with relief. He was still uncomfortably hot and hurt and overall just plain miserable, but at least his friends were okay.

"Now stay still, Merlin," Gaius was saying, moving about. "We're trying to change your bandages."

Merlin nodded, but then a moment later he opened his mouth again. "Th-thir..."

Before he could cough and attempt again, Gwen had approached and lifted his head again, once more pressing the cup to his lips. Merlin wanted to thank her, but his body didn't want to, and so he settled for trying to convey his feelings through his eyes.

"You're welcome," Gwen smiled, setting the cup aside.

The young warlock tried to stay still, but winced and twitched when a particularly sensitive spot was touched or brushed accidentally. A slight tugging sensation told Merlin where the linens had stuck to his numerable wounds. He listened to Gaius' voice when he asked for a particular herb or salve, which was comforting in its own way, despite the professionalism in it.

Merlin felt heavy and sluggish. He blamed whatever drugs Gaius had forced down his throat while he was unconscious. He supposed one of them had been a fever reducer, for which he was grateful, since he felt heated. But he would feel better if he could have a cool wet cloth on his head. Merlin didn't complain, though. He knew Gaius and Gwen had been working to clean his wounds and drive away the infections for a long while, judging by how tired they looked.

A thought suddenly struck him that had him trying to get Gaius attention. The old man looked at his ward, raising an eyebrow.

"M-my mo..." Merlin had to stop to catch his breath and give his throat a moment to bear with the pain. But Gaius seemed to understand.

"I've sent for your mother, Merlin," he said. It must have shown on Merlin's face the mixture of relief and foreboding he felt, for Gaius smiled gently. "She will come as quickly as she can, I'm sure. I've sent the messenger out as soon as we'd returned two days ago. You've been feverish for most of that time."

Merlin stared at him. Two days? Two whole days?! That was more than enough time for Arthur to get himself into trouble, being the magnet for it that he was. What if Arthur had been hurt? What if he had done something rash?

"Nothing has happened while you were out, Merlin," Gaius said quickly.

"Arthur's come by a few times," Gwen offered, almost overlapping Gaius' words. "To check up on you, that is. He's fine, I promise."

Merlin searched both of their faces for a long moment, but was still a bit reluctant to believe them. For all he knew, this was a form of torture Mystral had conjured up. She seemed powerful enough to delve into his memories and make new ones based on those. But then he shook his head. He'd never heard of someone doing that.

Yet again his intention was misunderstood by the others in the room. Gwen stood. "I'll go and tell him you're awake," she said. "I've promised him to do so, anyhow."

Merlin watched her go, brow furrowed. Once she was gone, though, the warlock was practically assaulted by Gaius' Eyebrow.

"Merlin," he said in a hushed voice, "why didn't you use magic?"

A flush overcame Merlin's face and neck, though he hoped Gaius would put it off to his fever. "I," he said huskily, "couldn't...use..."

"Wards?" Gaius asked.

Merlin nodded tiredly, and Gaius imitated the gesture with unhappy understanding. Then the old man's eyes were peering into his, searching for something.

"How are you feeling, Merlin?"

Merlin wondered whether he meant physically, mentally, or magically. "H-hot," he said. The warlock had no doubt that that was not what Gaius had meant when the old man sighed. Nonetheless, he moved to dip a folded cloth in the bucket of water nearby. As he wrung it out, he asked, "How are you coping, I suppose I should have asked."

Gaius' ward closed his eyes as he moved to bathe his face with the cloth, giving him time to think. When it was laid on his forehead, Merlin's eyes fluttered open again. "I...'m alright." He smiled softly as if to punctuate his words. Gaius regarded him coolly for an eternal moment, as though judging whether or not to believe him.

Whether he had or not, Merlin didn't get to see, for that was when the door burst open with more force than necessary, startling the young warlock. Something smashed behind him, but he quickly forgot it when he saw that it was Arthur striding into the room. The rigidity in Merlin's body instantly disappeared, and relief and happiness lit up his eyes.

Arthur stopped when he saw Merlin grinning. "Day three," he said airily, folding him arms across his chest.

Merlin's brow furrowed in confusion, as did Gwen and Gaius'.

The king blinked, then looked a bit embarrassed as he realized that Merlin didn't remember. "Of your week off," he said, trying to cover it up. "Or I suppose if you feel well enough now, you can just get to work. The stable needs to be mucked out, my chambers cleaned, my armor polished, sword sharpened, and I want a bath drawn when I get back from training this evening. And don't, Merlin, forget my boots."

As Arthur had listed off the usual chores, Merlin's smile had returned and widened. "Can't...can't last a...a day with-t me," he said breathlessly.

Arthur's smirk faltered a bit when he saw (or rather, heard) how much of a struggle it was just for Merlin to speak. An awkward silence fell over the group.

Gaius was the first to break it. "If you'll excuse me Sire, m'lady," he said, nodding to Arthur and Gwen in turn, "I must be getting on my rounds."

"Of course," Arthur said, stepping closer to Merlin's cot so that Gaius could pass. As he did so, he'd moved into Merlin's reach, and the warlock took the opportunity. Arthur's head swiveled to Merlin, eyes widened slightly in surprise, as he felt a light grasp on his hand. Merlin was staring intently at Arthur's knuckles, and only when the king himself examined his hand did he remember that he had split them on the wall of his room just yesterday. He hadn't bothered to wrap them up, feeling as though he deserved the pain.

"Arthur," Gwen said from the doorway. The king reluctantly turned to look at her. "I'm going to retire in my chambers for a few hours," she said. He nodded approvingly, seeing the dark bags under her eyes. It went unspoken that Arthur would sit with Merlin until either she or Gaius returned.

The door closed gently behind her, and Arthur found himself staring at the door for a long moment.

A tug at his hand drew his attention back to Merlin. The manservant was staring up at Arthur questioningly. Arthur scoffed and pulled his hand away, adjusting the stool Gaius had been sitting in. "Don't worry your empty little head about it, Merlin," he said, propping his feet up on Merlin's bed, but careful not to jostle him.

Merlin glared at him, but otherwise did nothing. Arthur would have felt a bit of satisfaction at that had it not been because Merlin probably couldn't do anything more. The king wasn't a fool. Any movement probably caused the young man a lot of pain, and his voice seemed to have finally given out on him after all the screaming he had done the day before.

Arthur's eyes must have darkened at the memory, as when he looked at Merlin he flinched a bit. The king quickly schooled his expression into an impassive look. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Arthur stole a glance toward Merlin every now and again, but the manservant seemed too sleepy to notice. After a few more minutes, Merlin began to pluck absently at a loose thread on the blanket that Gaius had earlier draped over him, splinted fingers fumbling. The three fingers that Arthur had bent back into place had only turned out to be dislocated, which was marginally better than broken and did not require splints. Still, it would be a while before Merlin had any real use of his hands again.

Arthur began to grow uncomfortable with the quiet. He wanted to break it with an easy jibe, but could not think of a thing to say that would not reference Merlin's condition, or what he had gone through, or what he would not be able to do until he was better. His mouth opened of its own accord and spoke for him, "Who is Freya?"

Merlin jolted, and Arthur immediately regretted his question, though he wasn't sure whether the abruptness of his voice or the question itself had startled his friend. The manservant turned his head and met Arthur's gaze with wide, fearful eyes, and Arthur somehow managed to regret the question more. Before he could amend himself and retract the question, Merlin asked, "H-how di' you...?"

Arthur now looked sorry and ashamed, and averted his eyes in a very unkingly manner. "You told me I killed her," he said softly.

The king missed the saddened expression Merlin gave him. "You did'n' know, Ar'hur," he breathed.

"Yes, you told me that, too," Arthur said, casting a sideways glance to Merlin. "But that doesn't answer my question."

Merlin smiled gently, but it didn't reach his eyes. "F-reya was a D-Dru'd."

"Ah." Arthur made an understanding noise, but Merlin could see by the concentrative furrow of his brow that Arthur really had no clue what Merlin was babbling about.

"I l-lov'd 'er," he said a bit wistfully, turning to gaze up at the ceiling.

The king gave Merlin a startled look. He doubled his efforts at recalling the Druid girl-Oh. The Druid girl. So Freya was her name. Halig had brought her to Camelot years ago, had suspected and questioned Merlin of helping her escape. Merlin had called him fat, and snuck some of his food. Arthur had thought it was for himself, which, looking at how skinny Merlin had always been, he hadn't much begrudged him for it. But it was for Freya.

Arthur rubbed a hand down his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "But Merlin, she wasn't really a girl, she was-"

"Curs'd."

"Huh?"

Merlin turned and looked at Arthur again, looking, surprisingly enough, amused at Arthur's confusion. "She was curs'd to...to transf-form...ev'ry night."

"She told you this," Arthur said, not really a question.

Merlin nodded. "Wasn' your faul'."

Arthur found himself unable to meet Merlin's gaze again. He'd killed someone Merlin had loved. And yet Merlin did not blame him, nor act any differently. But then Arthur remembered that for several days after the creature that had been the Druid girl had attacked, he'd been sullen and tired-looking. And here Arthur had thought he might've gotten into a row with Gaius again.

"Ar'hur?"

"Yes, Merlin."

When he didn't reply, Arthur shot a quick glance to Merlin. The manservant was studying him. Arthur casually removed all emotion from his face, and was slightly pleased to see frustration bloom in Merlin's shining eyes. The fever was still apparent by the flush in his cheeks and the cloth on his head, but at least this time he was actually awake, not trapped in some nightmare that had him screaming and pleading until his voice gave way.

Moving automatically, Arthur snatched the cloth from Merlin's forehead and wet it again so that it was cool. As he was bent over the bucket wringing it out, he heard the door open behind him. "Ah, Gaius," he said without looking, "I was wondering when you would be back. I must say, it really is inappropriate for a king to be looking after his idiot servant like this."

As he placed the cloth back on Merlin's head, he frowned at the apprehensive look the manservant was sporting, then turned to Gaius. He nearly fell off his stool when he realized that it was not Gaius who had entered. It was Merlin's mother, who had stopped in the doorway upon catching sight of her only child lying on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Mother," Merlin greeted, in the strongest voice Arthur had heard him use all day.

It seemed to break Hunith out of her trance, and she moved forward, dropping her bag carelessly to the floor. "Oh, my boy," she uttered, hands moving forward so that when she reached Merlin she could touch him gingerly.

" 'M fine," Merlin protested, looking a bit embarrassed. He moved as though to sit up, but a sharp glance from his fussing mother cut that action at the quick, and he laid back again. He settled for reaching up to hold his mother's hands.

Arthur, uncomfortable, stood up and cleared his throat.

Hunith started, glancing up to see him. "My lord!" she uttered, horrified that she had neglected to greet him properly. "I'm-"

"No," Arthur said, holding up a hand. "It's fine, really. If it's all right with you, I'll leave you two alone?"

Merlin nodded, giving Arthur a look that begged his leave, and Hunith bowed her head, unsure of what to say. Arthur almost considered jokingly sitting again, if only to see Merlin's reaction, but then nodded respectfully to Hunith and left, shutting the open door behind him. Once he was on the other side, he could hear Hunith immediately jump into a soft but firm tirade about something or other, and he could just imagine her adjusting the blanket over her son's form. The king sighed, trying to squash his jealousy. He'd never had anyone to do that for him.

In any case, he was glad Merlin's mother had shown up. Even if Merlin looked right well embarrassed at her presence, it would do him good to have loved ones around him after all that had happened. It was times like these that forcibly reminded Arthur that Merlin had come from a tiny village, not even from Camelot, and yet he endured as much as he and his knights, if not more. Hell, Arthur suddenly remembered that Merlin was about three years his junior at times like these.

He stood at the door for a moment longer, listening to the lulling sound of Hunith's voice, and then turned away and made his way back to his chambers. He had to finish the documents he was working on, and then prepare himself for knight training that afternoon. And he was going to hold a conference with his knights of the round table. There were important things to discuss.

**A/N:** Sorry for the later than usual update. I finished my finals, yay! Only to come home and find out my parents have separated, sort of yay, since I really don't approve of my father's drinking and temperament. But in any case, my brothers and I cleaned our entire house from top to bottom yesterday as an early Christmas present for our mother, and that was horrible since she's a hoarder no matter how you look at it. I think I've finished complaining about how sad my existence is.

I finally finished this chapter, at least, and I hope it's not horrible. I couldn't remember if Arthur ever knew Freya's name or not, so I just kind of implied it. Anyway, next chapter will be up as soon as I write it! ^-^ Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As the days progressed to weeks (far longer than Arthur had allotted Merlin, really), Merlin grew stronger, and his wounds began to heal. The infections had passed, thanks to Gaius' skill, and Merlin was outwardly happy with his nearly constant stream of visitors. At first Gaius had kept visits to a minimum, but then gave in to his exasperation with Merlin's bored, lonesome sighs.

Arthur, Gwen, and the knights were the more vigilant visitors, seeing him as often as they could spare. Gwaine and Hunith were nearly always there when Arthur came knocking on Merlin's door, as he had been moved there some days previously once Gaius had allowed it. Merlin had insisted on walking to his room himself, and only needed a little support from his mother. He'd flushed under Hunith's and Gwen's praise, and Arthur wasted no time in mocking that praise, warranting a venomous look from both his wife and Merlin himself.

Though Merlin's back was still tender, he could sit up on his own, and several more of his fingers had healed, giving him more flexibility with his hands. His jaw would take longer to heal, Gaius had said, and as such Merlin was kept on a liquid diet of broth. Occasionally, as a secret treat when Gaius left for his rounds, Hunith made a fruit paste for Merlin, which he cherished. Merlin also still found it difficult to speak, and only Hunith, Gaius, and Arthur seemed to catch all that he mumbled, especially when he was tired. His slurring rivaled that of a drunk Gwaine, and he constantly left out syllables or words in favor of speaking fragmentally.

Even so, after all Merlin's progress, Arthur was shocked the morning that the curtains were flung open with a cheery, "Rise 'n' shine!" From the position he was lying in, Arthur first caught Gwen's startled face morph into a pleased smile. Then he rolled over and saw Merlin beaming at them from the window.

"Merlin, should you really be up?" Gwen asked, though her smile did not fade. She sat up and stretched, shooting a meaningful look to Arthur, who only drew the covers up over his face to block out the light. He gasped at the chill as Merlin yanked them free.

"Merlin!" he uttered irritably, though he was, in actuality, ecstatic that Merlin had shown up.

"Don' worry," Merlin looked at Gwen as he said it, but was addressing both her and his master. "Gaius said it's a' right t' do light work."

Gwen only looked happier, and Arthur felt the same, though he tried to hide it. "Very well, then," he said. "Since you're here, you can go about cleaning. I've been saving the worst of it for you."

Merlin grimaced good-naturedly. "Thank you, Sire."

"Merlin, have you eaten?" Gwen asked, moving to sit at the table. She was still in her nightclothes, but since it was only Merlin and he wouldn't care, she was unabashed. Arthur kicked himself mentally. He should have asked that.

"Later," Merlin replied with a half shrug.

Arthur cast his gaze toward the breakfast Merlin had laid out on the table. He had set for both him and Gwen, obviously having learned from Gwen that they had begun to share a bed. There were fruits, meats, breads, and cheeses piled up on the plates - none of which Merlin could easily eat. Arthur felt a bit bad that he would be eating while Merlin couldn't, and he knew that Gwen would feel the same.

But Merlin seemed to notice their apprehension and grinned cheekily. Before he could make fun of Arthur, he rolled out of bed and sat pointedly at the table, digging in with gusto. With a particularly large bite from an apple, Arthur gazed coolly at Merlin, who laughed aloud. Gwen gave in as well, smiling sympathetically at the manservant before sitting and eating as well, though she was a bit more refined.

Merlin cast his gaze about for something to do. Despite what Arthur had said, there really wasn't much of a mess. Whether that was Arthur's, Gwen's, or another servant's doing he didn't know, but he felt a bit frustrated that it wasn't he that had done the job. He spotted Arthur's boots at the foot of the bed. They, by Merlin's standard, were almost perfect, but by Arthur's they warranted a good polish.

So Merlin sat by the bed after retrieving the polishing cloth from a spare cupboard, and picked up the first boot. He was oblivious to Arthur and Gwen's occasional glance to see how he was faring, so concentrated he was. Four of Merlin's fingers were still splinted, three on his left hand and his little finger on his right. Though the others were healed, they lacked the flexibility they once had and ached sometimes. When they began to hurt Merlin stopped to give them a break under the pretense of scrutinizing the job he was doing.

After half an hour, there was a soft but firm knock on the door. Merlin looked up, wondering whether someone was coming to visit one of the royals, but both of them looked equally surprised. "Enter," Arthur called.

"Uh-oh," Merlin sang under his breath, drawing both Arthur's and Gwen's attention.

"Sire," said Gaius, who stood at the door after opening it. He removed his hand from the knob and clasped his hands in front of his, looking very stern. For a moment, Arthur and Gwen looked concerned, but when Gaius' hard eyes shifted to Merlin, they suddenly understood.

"Merlin!" they exclaimed in unison.

Said manservant had been cringing under the weight of Gaius' Eyebrow, but when his friends looked at him sternly as well, he grimaced and subconsciously began to massage his throbbing fingers. That was the last straw for Arthur.

"Get up," he said crossly, standing himself. "You're going back to Gaius' immediately."

"But 'm fine!" Merlin protested, unmoving.

"Merlin," Arthur said, exasperated. "I'm not going to have you following me if you're going to faint like a girl's petticoat and make me carry you."

Merlin gave him a heated glare, then looked to Gaius and got no sympathy. As a last resort, he gave Gwen a pleading look. It was to no avail. "I know you're restless, Merlin," Gwen said, "but that doesn't mean you can sneak out and do whatever you like. You must take care of yourself."

Gaius' posture and expression told Merlin very clearly that he knew Merlin had not snuck out; he had placed a light sleeping spell over his mentor so that he couldn't stop his leaving. Hunith had left a few days previously, to return for the harvest. Merlin had wanted to go help, but was not well enough for the journey. She promised to come back once it was over, for a visit. Merlin grimaced again, now realizing that his actions would have consequences, which he almost always seemed to forget.

Finally admitting defeat, Merlin pushed himself to his feet, and only swayed once before correcting his balance. He kept his eyes firmly on the floor, head bowed to hide how ashamed he felt. Arthur only felt a bit bad for sending him away with Gaius. In any case, Merlin's health came before his want of Merlin's presence, and he was sure Gwen felt the same way.

Once Merlin had trudged to the door, Gaius gave a stiff bow to Arthur and Gwen, then turned on his heel and led Merlin out. The manservant only paused to close the door, a forlorn expression dominating his features. Arthur inwardly promised that he would visit him later, and stay for longer than he had in previous visits. The king couldn't imagine having to be confined to his room for weeks with still more to come, and his chamber was far more spacious than Merlin's.

Arthur exhaled heavily and dragged a hand down his face. "That idiot," he muttered.

"He's bored," Gwen said endearingly.

The king gave a noncommittal grunt, rubbing his eyes. He needed to start his day, but now that he had a headache coming on all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed. Gwen's hand on his shoulder meant that she had no intention of allowing that, for if he did then she would be left to deal with the council meeting that day. So Arthur heaved another sigh and disappeared behind the changing screen, where clothes had been lain out for him the night before.

It was going to be a long day.

But Arthur was a man of his word, and even if that word had been given to himself and no one knew that he had given it at all, Arthur would come through. Despite his exhaustion from the hours-long council meeting that dealt and argued with the most pointless, trivial things the king had ever heard of, and the knight training, and a short dealing with a dispute amongst the ladies of the court, Arthur went to see Merlin.

The weight of his burdens seemed to lift slightly when Merlin smiled brightly at his appearance. Gaius had turned when the door opened, but seeing it was Arthur stood from his place at the table. Merlin remained sitting, though whether it was because he was tired, or aching, or simply comfortable where he was Arthur didn't know - or particularly mind.

"May I help you, Sire?" Gaius asked.

Arthur froze. He'd forgotten to come up with an excuse for his visit. He couldn't very well say he had come to see Merlin, that was unthinkable. He'd never hear the end of it! So he blurted the first thing that came to his head: "Headache."

Gaius' Eyebrow tilted precariously higher. "I see," he said, turning to the potions shelf. "I believe I have a tonic already prepared."

Arthur kicked himself. Now he would have to accept the vial and leave without spending time with Merlin. A glance at Merlin told Arthur that Merlin was very well aware of his predicament. He tried to ignore the heat rising in his face and neck.

Gaius then turned away from the shelf, empty-handed. The corners of his mouth twitched as though he were holding back a smile. "I'm afraid I don't have it, Sire," he said at last, and the amusement in it was hardly concealed. "I'll have to go to the market and fetch a bit of lavender, in any case. If you care to wait, I won't be long." The old man fetched his medicine bag from its hook on the wall and promptly left, leaving master and servant alone.

Once the door had closed, Merlin laughed.

Arthur shot a well-intentioned glare at him. With a dramatic sigh, Arthur put a hand on his head and slumped down in Gaius' seat at the table. "Despite the fact that you're not around to talk my ears off, I still find myself getting awful headaches."

"Tha's jus' you tryin' t' think."

Arthur looked up through his lashes to see Merlin grinning cheekily. He scoffed and sat up again, needlessly smoothing the front of his shirt before leaning his elbows on the table. "How on earth did you sneak past Gaius? Even I couldn't do that."

"Tired."

The king blinked. "Tired because of you."

Merlin flashed another grin, partly due to his pride that Arthur had understood what he'd meant. If he'd said that to Gwen or the knights, they'd have immediately assumed Merlin was saying that he himself was tired, and would have sent him to bed. Then he lowered his head and continued working on what he was doing.

Arthur watched him with a curious expression. He'd seen Gaius plenty of times making tonics, but never Merlin. He didn't know whether it was only because his fingers didn't work properly at the moment or that it was simply his way of doing it, but Merlin held two phials in one hand, between his little and ring finger and between his first and middle fingers. With his other hand he was measuring out pinches of various ground herbs and dropping them in the tiny glass bottles.

"Making poison, are you?" Arthur asked lightly.

"For you."

"Ah, well thank you," the king joked. "I haven't been sick in a long while. Now seems like a good time for it."

Merlin laughed, eyes twinkling. Arthur marveled at the fact that Merlin even could laugh, after all that he'd gone through. He envied Merlin, who was able to be so free with his emotions. Perhaps if he'd been raised differently, Arthur could be like that, too. The king quickly shook the thought away.

"Sleepin' draught," Merlin said after a moment. "Gaius used 'em all."

It passed unspoken between them that the person Gaius' had spent his sleeping drafts on was Merlin. Arthur wondered if he was having nightmares, and searched his face for any sign of them. He didn't look any worse than usual. Aside from the slight swelling in his jaw (a reminder that it was fractured), a small scar just below his lower lip (a miniscule testament to his ordeal), and slight bags under his eyes, he looked normal. Arthur didn't want to see his body again, regardless of whether it was fully healed or not. He would always bear the scars, and that just wasn't fair to Merlin.

The two fell into another silence, content to just sit with one another. Normally Merlin would be filling the quiet with the rambling that Arthur never really listened to (but now was missing), but since talking for extended periods made his jaw ache he tended to keep it to a minimum. So Arthur kept his questions to a minimum as well, and played it off as relishing the fact that he could hear himself think without a constant backdrop of chatter.

"Knigh's?" Merlin asked suddenly, looking up at Arthur.

"Sirs Leon, Elyan, and Percival were sent out on a patrol," Arthur answered breezily. "Gwaine was last seen being dragged back to his chambers in the wee hours of the morning, having possibly drunk the tavern out of business and eaten all the pickled eggs in the kingdom."

A swift grin dominated Merlin's face again. Each time Merlin smiled Arthur felt himself a bit more at ease. Merlin's happiness somehow made him happy, much in the way Gwen's did, even if he didn't understand why presenting her with something so trivial as flowers once in a while warranted such a reaction. But girls were girls, and Merlin was a man like he (though he'd never let Merlin know he acknowledged that); so Arthur knew exactly how to make him laugh.

Arthur rolled his eyes as Merlin continued chuckling, no doubt at the image of Gwaine. His eyes landed on the hearth. It was getting on in the autumn, slowly creeping toward winter, so really there should have been more wood stocked beside it. There were ashes in the grate, and a pot hanging over it that spoke of the last meal Gaius had prepared, probably of stew so that Merlin could have the broth. But what struck Arthur was what was missing: the pokers that had always been there.

His lips were moving before his mind could catch up and stop himself. "Where are the fire pokers?"

Merlin stiffened instantly, head snapping up to look at Arthur and swiveling to look at the hearth. Arthur was cursing himself, viciously kicking himself mentally at Merlin's reaction. He had remembered too late the burns that littered his body, and that of course he might have some sort of apprehension toward the tools. But now Arthur had no idea how to rectify his mistake.

Ever so slowly, Merlin turned back toward the king, haunted eyes lingering slightly at the place where the pokers usually were. Something in Arthur's face must have shown because Merlin's face immediately softened in understanding. "Dunno," he supplied, forcing a smile and returning to his tedious task of measuring out herbs.

Arthur nodded agreeably, feeling horribly guilty. The last thing he'd wanted to do was remind Merlin of what he'd endured.

After a few minutes of terse silence, Merlin suddenly extended his hand to Arthur, who blinked in surprise. He took the vials from Arthur's hand, but Merlin took one back and handed Arthur a stopper, giving him a meaningful look. The king understood and topped the vial, then did the same with the other one. Merlin smiled his thanks and set the vials aside. It was only then that Arthur saw how many he had done. There were at least twenty, and if those took as long the ones Merlin had just finished, he must have been working for several hours. Arthur wondered if it was Merlin's punishment for escaping that morning or to keep him busy - probably both.

Gaius announced his return by opening the door, and Arthur stood. "Sorry, Gaius," Arthur feigned, "but my headache's disappeared. I won't be needing the tonic after all."

"Just as well, Sire," Gaius replied, hanging his bag. "The market was fresh out of lavender." The small smile on his lips was proof that he hadn't really gone to the market at all.

Just as Arthur opened his mouth with something witty on the tip of his tongue, Gaius' concerned look warranted him to turn and look at the object of his attention. Or rather, the someone.

"Merlin?" Gaius said, striding forward.

Merlin was immobile, staring wide-eyed at the shelves on the other side of the room. When Gaius and Arthur looked, they saw nothing that would cause such a terrifying reaction. The king suddenly wondered if there were some sort of trigger, like the fire pokers, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what. There were bottles upon bottles of herbs and tonics and poultices. Had he been poisoned?

"What is wrong, Merlin?" Gaius asked firmly, placing his gnarled hand on the manservant's shoulder.

Still there was no reaction. But after a moment, Arthur began to notice that his unbound fingers were clutched so tightly at the hem of his shirt that his knuckles were white; that his face was growing paler by the minute; that he was shaking like a leaf.

"Merlin," Arthur said, and the man jolted as though he'd been struck.

But still his fearful eyes did not waver. "She's..." he whispered, hardly audible.

"She?" Arthur said, sharing a startled glance with Gaius. They cast another glance to the shelves, just to make sure there was no one standing there that they had missed. "She who?"

"She's...here," Merlin said. Now he was starting to move, though his eyes never strayed from that spot. Before either of the men could stop him, Merlin had gotten up from his seat and scrambled backwards, hitting his back against the wall. He winced, but otherwise did not acknowledge it.

"Who's here, Merlin?" Arthur asked quickly, shooting yet another fervent glance. He knew no one was there, that it was just Merlin seeing whoever it was, but he wanted to see her, too. He didn't want Merlin to be the only one seeing her. That would mean Merlin was hallucinating, and hallucinations indicated illness. Merlin couldn't be ill, he had only just gotten better!

The king knew what name was going to come out of his mouth before Merlin said it. He hoped that it wouldn't be that name, but he saw the first syllable form on his quivering lips, and the unbridled fear on his face. He knew it was coming, but he was unprepared for it.

"M'stral," Merlin uttered, hands flying up from his shirt to grasp at his hair. His legs buckled beneath him, and before Arthur and Gaius, who had kept a few steps' worth of distance between them and him, could reach him, he slid to the floor in a shuddering heap.

Arthur went to his aid, ignoring the fact that he felt as though he had just been punched in the gut, driving all the air from his lungs. Gaius turned to grab one of the phials Merlin had worked so hard to fill, unstopping it and kneeling beside Merlin. From the grim line Gaius' lips were in, Arthur knew, with a sinking feeling, that this was not the first episode Merlin had had.

The king wanted to cry, and he nearly did when Merlin began to mutter something that after a few seconds became clear: "Nononononononononononono," he was moaning lowly. Then he took a wheezing breath and began the plea again.

Gaius gently put his free hand on Merlin's cheek turning his head. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming from them. The old physician promptly tipped the contents of the vial into Merlin's parted lips, and the boy swallowed with another tremble. The taste of it seemed to bring him back slightly, and he apparently recognized Gaius before he shut his eyes again.

"You're all right, my boy," Gaius said, setting the bottle aside. When Gaius gently pulled Merlin's arm to help him sit up, the young man flung himself at Gaius and buried his face into the elderly man's breast, shoulders heaving. Gaius wrapped his arms around his ward, looking miserable himself. Arthur suddenly felt as though he were imposing on a private moment, and turned to look at the shelf on the other side of the room.

Still he saw nothing that could be a trigger.

"Sire," said a soft voice.

Arthur reluctantly turned around, and was only slightly relieved to see Merlin sleeping. Though there were still tears on his face, he was no longer crying, and his brow was smooth with peace.

"Perhaps you could help me move him," Gaius suggested tiredly.

Arthur nodded numbly, and reached down to help. He hesitated only slightly, unsure of where to grab his manservant. He had been injured quite terribly and he didn't want to cause him any unnecessary pain. As though reading his thoughts, Gaius said that Merlin was in such a deep sleep that he wouldn't feel anything, let alone be aware of being moved.

So the king looped his forearms around Merlin's chest, underneath his armpits, and hoisted him up. True to Gaius' word, Merlin didn't stir. He was dead weight. And Arthur knew right then that he was going to make Merlin eat until he burst when his jaw was well, because his dead weight was hardly any weight at all.

"His bed, if you will, Sire," Gaius said when Arthur looked to him for guidance.

With a nod, Merlin was, as gently as possible, half dragged, half carried up the steps to his own bed. When deposited, his head lolled to one side, and Arthur winced, hoping his neck hadn't been hurt. Gaius said nothing of it, only corrected his ward's head on the pillow and draped his arms over his midsection. Arthur stood back, feeling quite helpless.

"How many times, Gaius?" he asked softly.

"Has he seen the witch?" Gaius asked, though Arthur knew he was stalling for time rather than ascertaining what the king was asking. Still, he nodded an affirmative.

"Not as often as he has been," Gaius said carefully. "But in this week alone, three times."

Arthur's eyes closed to hide his dismay. Merlin was ill, and it was a sickness of the worst kind: it was in his head. The king swallowed convulsively. "Will he...?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, Sire," Gaius said sadly. "All we can do is give it time."

"But she's dead!" Arthur exclaimed. "I've told him that."

"He knows, Sire," Gaius replied. "But the fear of her is imprinted in his memory, in every fiber of his being. It might diminish with time, as it already has, but until then all we can do is reassure him and protect him."

The king nodded slowly as Gaius spoke. "Take care of him, Gaius," Arthur said. "I've some things I must attend to."

"Of course, Sire," Gaius said.

With that, Arthur swept from the room. He couldn't get the image of Merlin cowering on the floor of Gaius' chambers, in the castle of Camelot, where he was ultimately safe from an obviously dead sorcerer, out of his head. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

And Arthur hated it.

**A/N: **Yay, two updates in one day! I guess you thought the worst of it was over, didn't you? Well, sorry, Merlin didn't come out unscathed. Would you have? I hope I'm not confusing anyone with the time skip. Basically, it's been about three weeks since their rescue, if you could call it that.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it. :)


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Arthur was brooding in his seat at the round table, awaiting the arrival of his knights. Normally Merlin would be present as well, but since he was incapacitated, he couldn't very well come. Under the pretense of discussing important security business, he and knights, over the last few weeks, had been planning to do something extravagant for Merlin. But now all of that had ground to a halt, as far as Arthur was concerned.

Merlin had been doing so well, Arthur had thought. Did he and Gaius not think it was important to mention it to him at all? Arthur thought it was pretty damn important. The king might not have been able to help the manservant, but he could have offered support and reassurances. Was Merlin just too embarrassed? Did anyone besides Gaius know? Arthur supposed not. Gaius could keep secrets; he knew that because when he was younger he often confided in him and once hid a wounded bird he was caring for in his chambers so his father wouldn't hear of it. The only way someone else would know is if Merlin told, or if he had a relapse in another's presence - as Arthur had discovered.

Arthur remembered a knight from when he was a young child, perhaps of nine or ten years, who had been tortured for some days. He thought eight days, though he could be wrong, it was so long ago. The knight had been tied by his ankle to a his own horse, and was dragged back into Camelot in terrible condition. He had survived, and was grateful to Gaius for saving him, but later it was determined that his mind had been broken during the torture he'd endured. Arthur hadn't witnessed it firsthand, but rumors that he had tried to kill his wife and children reached his ears. The knight had been relieved of his duties, and that was the last Arthur had ever seen or heard of him after that.

Now Arthur found himself wondering how much of that was true. Did the knight really attempt to take the lives of his family? Where had he gone? Had he been sent away? Locked up? Killed? Arthur would never dream of doing that to anyone so sick, least of all Merlin. Merlin didn't even seem capable of hurting himself intentionally, let alone others. No, Merlin needed support, and help. Mental sickness could pass, right? Arthur made a mental note to ask Gaius.

The knights, as one, had finally arrived. He supposed that the patrol had just returned, and Gwaine had been roused from his stupor. Arthur wasn't looking forward to explaining the situation, especially as they all seemed to expect to put the finishing details on the escapade they had been planning. One look at Arthur's expression had the other knights' falling as well.

Arthur waited until they were all seated before he stood to speak. As best he could, the king explained what was happening to Merlin, their precious friend. He told them, in minute detail, Merlin's most recent episode that he had borne witness to, and that Gaius had informed him that it was not the first, and likely not the last, that he would have. The knights listened, with angry expressions, as Arthur described what Merlin had seen, and that some things might trigger an episode (such as the fire pokers, which Arthur reflected might have been partially responsible for the recent attack). He said that Merlin was sleeping peacefully, and that Gaius solution to every panic Merlin worked himself into was to feed him a sleeping draft and put him to bed.

"So," Arthur said in a voice that meant he was drawing to a conclusion, "we should put our plans on hold for now, until he's truly well."

Gwaine stood, wearing a rare expression of helplessness. He was looking for guidance from Arthur, of all people, for he was less inclined in the healing arts than even him. "Shouldn't we do something to help him? Put his mind at ease?"

Arthur regarded him thoughtfully. "But how could we do that? Even Gaius, all he does is force sleeping drafts down his throat and wait."

"Perhaps," Percival spoke up, "if we write to his mother, she would come back?"

"Or Merlin could go and stay with her for a while," Elyan suggested. "I understand she lives out in the country, in a small village. It'd be quiet there, and he'd have plenty of space. And he'd be surrounded by people he knows."

Arthur nodded slowly, processing the idea. Though he was reluctant to send Merlin to Ealdor, as that thought was a bit scary in itself, perhaps being with his mother would be good for him. He personally didn't know the comfort a mother could bring, but if it was anything like he imagined then he wanted Merlin to have it. Anything to help him.

"You say he's seeing that evil bitch that's held us captive?" Gwaine asked, brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"Witch," Elyan corrected automatically.

"That's what I said," Gwaine replied shortly, still looking at Arthur expectantly.

"Yes, he's been seeing the sorcerer."

"We should capture her and execute her," Gwaine said.

The knights and king stared at him.

Arthur spluttered, "She's alre-You-I...I've killed her, Sir Gwaine!"

"Yes," Gwaine said. "And Merlin knows that as well, and he's going mad. Knowing he's going insane is a lot worse than just thinking he's insane, princess."

No one but Leon seemed to catch on. For the first time of that meeting, Leon spoke up. "That just might work."

Arthur swiveled toward Leon. "But she's dead!" His hand flapped in the air as if to emphasize and punctuate his point, and then remained hovering in the air to distract from the frustrated and incredulous expression on his handsome features.

"Sire, if I may," Leon said, standing. Arthur look of frustration did not leave, and he was flabbergasted as ever, but he nodded his consent. "Mystral is indeed dead. But if, somehow, it were to turn out that she wasn't, and was appearing to Merlin as another form of torture, that would mean Merlin is not losing his mind. If we captured her and publicly executed her, the hallucinations might stop." He gazed meaningfully at Arthur.

Percival and Elyan were nodding emphatically, finally understanding. After a moment of hard thinking, the king suddenly realized what they were saying.

"Yes," he said slowly. "But who would we execute in her stead, since she's already utterly dead? We can't just grab the nearest fair-headed woman and burn her at stake."

"No," Leon agreed swiftly.

"But we can," Gwaine said a bit smugly, "make a witch to burn. And I know a few women who can help us out. With sound effects, too."

Arthur glared at him in disbelief. "We're holding a public execution," he said, "of a poppet? Why on earth would anyone go along with that?"

"Because you're the king and they have to do what you say!" Gwaine retorted.

"Sire," Percival said, drawing both of their heated glares. "Most of the people know Merlin, and are on friendly terms with him. They also know that he has been through much in these last weeks, and many have come by to see him and ask after him. Merlin has many friends who give much to help him. I'm sure if we spread our plan, they will play along."

"Are we forgetting that Merlin has eyes?" Arthur asked pointedly. "It'll be obvious that the thing we're burning is not human! It'll burst aflame immediately."

Leon answered, "He doesn't actually have to be present, Sire. If Gaius goes along with it as well, he could keep Merlin back. Merlin usually listens to him."

The 'usually' hung heavily in the air. Arthur brushed it aside.

"I can't believe we're talking about this," Arthur groaned dramatically, rubbing his face with a hand. "I think we should ask Gaius, at least. He seems most knowledgeable on this...topic."

He received several murmurs of agreement.

"I'll fetch him," Gwaine offered, standing and ambling toward the door.

"Gwaine," Arthur said, stopping him for a moment. "Express to him that he should only come if he feels Merlin will be all right for a while. Or if he feels you could stay with him while he comes here."

"Of course, princess," was the prompt reply, and then Gwaine was off. Arthur didn't doubt for a second that Gwaine would stay with Merlin regardless of whether Gaius said he would be all right alone.

So it was when Gwaine arrived at Gaius' chambers and burst inside with only one knock to announce his presence, he saw the old physician sitting at the table. He turned at the sound, and seeing it was Sir Gwaine gave him a once-over to check for any apparent wounds, of which there were none.

"May I help you?" Gaius asked, standing stiffly.

It did not go unnoticed that there were dark bags under the old man's eyes, and his robe looked a bit unkempt. When he stood and stepped to one side so that he could turn to face Gwaine, the knight saw that he was reading a large tome. Gwaine looked about the rest of the chambers casually, but did not see Merlin, indicating that he was in his room.

"Arthur requests your presence in the council room," Gwaine said. "But only if you trust me enough to sit with Merlin."

Gaius regarded him for a moment. "Merlin is sleeping now," he said, "and should be for at least a few more candle marks, if not for the rest of the night."

"He'll be all right, then?"

"Yes," Gaius replied, still looking at Gwaine, whose gaze had shifted to Merlin's door longingly. "There is a stool at his bedside, if you care to sit with him. I will answer to Arthur's summons."

"Of course," the knight said cordially, stepping to one side and holding the door open for the physician. Gaius shot him a glare that clearly said he could open and close the door himself, that he had been doing since before Gwaine had been born; however, he said nothing and left, hands clasped in front of him.

Once he had gone, Gwaine gently shut the door, aware that Merlin was sleeping. He knew that a tonic had been forced down his throat, but was unsure whether the drugs in his system would stay his waking, and if it meant Merlin would rest Gwaine wasn't one to bother it. He quietly made his way up the steps to Merlin's room, easing the door open and slipping inside.

The room was a mess, though a clear path had been made through the clothes on the floor to the chair beside the bed. A single candle was flickering at Merlin's bedside, casting fleeting shadows across the room and the man's prostrate form, which was bundled in thick, warm blankets. For a moment, Gwaine smiled at the sight of Merlin looking peaceful. But then he shook his head; looks were deceiving.

"I'm so sorry, my friend," Gwaine whispered mournfully, feeling tears stinging his eyes.

"S'not your faul'," came a quiet reply.

Gwaine jolted in surprise, and looking more closely he realized that Merlin's eyes were open a sliver. "Hey, mate," he greeted, a bit embarrassed. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Didn'."

"How long have you been up?"

Merlin's eyes opened a bit wider as he turned his head minutely to look at the candle. "Half-o-mark," he estimated.

Gwaine was not nonplussed enough that he could not hide it, and he smiled warmly at Merlin, who should have been sleeping. "How're you feeling?"

Merlin's brow furrowed as though gauging himself. "Hungry," he said at last. He worked his arms free from the covers and pushed them down to his waist, sitting up in the process. Gwaine stood at the ready in case Merlin needed a steadying hand. He refrained from helping him immediately, knowing that his friend would not appreciate it; Merlin wanted to be independent.

Together, they made their way out into the main chamber and sat at the table Gaius had moments before occupied. Merlin craned his neck and looked at the open book on the table, then carefully moved it out of the way without commenting on it. Gwaine glanced at it. The topic was something about the neural system or other, something he knew nothing about.

Merlin grabbed a loaf of bread that was sitting out and broke it in half, spilling crumbs all across the table top. He didn't seem to notice, too focused on taking a large bite of his own half and extending the other to Gwaine. Gwaine gaped at him.

"Should you be eating that, mate?" he uttered before he could stop himself.

Bottle blue eyes met his. The gaze was a bit unsettling, though Gwaine couldn't quite place why. Perhaps it was that he couldn't read what Merlin was thinking, as he normally could do. But in any case, Merlin chewed slowly and then swallowed, never breaking eye contact. The knight finally reached up and took the half of the loaf being held out to him, though he didn't eat.

"My jaw doesn't hurt right now," Merlin said, clear as day. "It's healing quickly, I think."

Gwaine regarded him for a long moment. Just earlier that day, Merlin had been withdrawn and irritable, complaining about the ache in the lower half of his face. The pain had radiated out from the fracture and into his teeth, and then up toward his sinus. Gaius had given him a pain tonic and another to ward off infection, which he thought was causing the pain. Perhaps the tonic was working quite well, and Gwaine brushed his concern off.

"I'm glad," he grinned. "Best eat while you can, in case the pain comes back. You need to put on some weight, my friend." With that, he took a bite of his own bread.

Merlin smiled brightly, and suddenly Gwaine saw the normalcy of it. Had he imagined the strange look before? He must have, considering that Merlin was acting as though none of it had happened. It was as though there was nothing wrong with him. As though he weren't ill. At that thought the knight sobered slightly, but Merlin was too intent on pouring them both cups of water to notice. As he set the pitcher back in its place, his sleeve pulled back a little to reveal the pink, nearly purple, scars around his wrists. They were from the manacles that had forced him into a vulnerable, helpless position.

Gwaine tore his gaze from it, forcing another smile and thanking Merlin for the drink. He really needed to visit the tavern, but not until after his visit with Merlin and another meet with Arthur to find out what had transpired while he was gone.

Meanwhile, Gaius had hobbled tiredly to the council room, where Arthur and the other knights were waiting. They hadn't spoken since Gwaine had left, each of them left to brood in their own thoughts. All of them were thinking on the unfortunate Merlin.

A knock on the door broke them from their musings, and Arthur bid the arrival to enter. Gaius appeared, and shut the door behind him. "Sire," he greeted.

Arthur stood and gestured to Gwaine's empty seat. "Thank you for coming, Gaius. Please, sit."

"Thank you, Sire," Gaius said, slowly sinking into the chair. Nonetheless, his watery eyes gazed at Arthur warily.

"We've been talking," Arthur said, sitting as well, "about Merlin." Gaius did not seem surprised, so the king continued. "And we've been deliberating on ways that might...help him."

"I see," Gaius said, though he didn't look or sound particularly enthusiastic. "And I presume I've been summoned to discuss these ideas as well?"

The king nearly faltered under the Eyebrow, but after an internal struggle he persevered. "Yes," he said, grateful that his voice didn't crack. "We have several ideas ourselves, though some are a bit extreme-" he cast a sidelong glance to Leon, who looked unashamed of himself, "-but if you have any you wish to add, please do. We've decided not to do anything without your guidance, as you are both Merlin's guardian and the most skilled physician."

Gaius was not swayed by the flattery. "And these ideas, Sire?" he prompted, Eyebrow never losing intensity.

"The first," said Arthur, "was to write to Merlin's mother. I understand it is the harvest season, but perhaps she might come back to be with him? I will pay for any expenses or crops she loses. Or we could arrange for Merlin to go to her." He studied Gaius' face for any sign that it was an agreeable idea.

"Merlin," Gaius said, "will not be well enough for such a long journey until he is completely healed and can eat properly. He has lost much weight, and with it his strength. Hunith, I have no doubt, would come immediately. But I am not certain that that would be good for either of them."

Arthur only looked a bit crestfallen, but cleared his throat. "I understand. Gwaine and Leon-well, we-" he amended apprehensively, resisted the urge to look at Leon, "have come up with a way that might relieve Merlin of his...waking nightmares." His face contorted as though he'd tasted one of Gaius' tonics.

Gaius' other eyebrow joined the first.

Encouraged by the physician's interest, Arthur said, "We could put on a show of capturing the sorceress and executing her."

Gaius' second eyebrow sank. "Merlin is well aware that she is dead, Arthur."

"I know," Arthur said, heart hammering as he noted Gaius had used his name rather than his title. "We know. Just, if we could make Merlin think the sorceress really was there, and that he wasn't imagining her, then they might stop."

The physician looked somber and understanding. "Merlin is no fool, Sire," he said gently. "I think it might hurt him more that you would attempt to trick him in such a way, regardless of your intentions."

The king's shoulders slumped and he sagged back into his seat, pressing his fingers against his eyes. "Then what do we do, Gaius? He needs help!"

The knights, who had sat silently, looked sorrowful.

"We give him support, Sire," Gaius answered. "The aftereffects of what he has endured will fade with time. His mental scars are as deep as his physical ones, if not deeper. But both will fade, I am sure."

Arthur dragged his hand down his face and looked tiredly at Gaius, blinking away the spots that had appeared from the pressure he'd placed on his eyes. "Very well, then. If there's really nothing to be done but put him to sleep each time he's afraid of nothing," he said bitterly.

Gaius pressed his lips into a sympathetic line. "I am sorry, Sire," he said. "But I am glad you are all trying to help Merlin. If he knew he would be very touched, I am sure."

"If he knew we'd never live it down," Elyan said light-heartedly.

Small smiles all around lifted their spirits. They would just have to be content that Merlin would get better with time.

Arthur stood and announced that the meeting was adjourned, and they all went their ways. The king decided to retire for the night. He was exhausted, as usual, but found he was always more so on the days he spent extra time thinking of Merlin, the bumbling idiot. It really was his fault that Arthur was like this.

His legs felt leaden as he climbed the stairs, but he forced himself onward. It wasn't the first time he had gone to bed feeling like a sack of freshly unearthed potatoes. Finally, he reached his own chambers and only just nudged the door closed behind him. He twisted as he fell heavily onto his bedspread, arms splaying out to either side and legs hanging off the edge. A sigh escaped his lips. He was too tired to remove his boots, let alone undress.

He heard the door open, and knew Gwen had probably seen him trudging to his room.

"I just don't understand it, Guinevere," Arthur said. "We're free now. We're in Camelot. Merlin is safe. He knows that the witch is dead and cannot harm him, so why is he seeing her? Why is he so frightened of a dead sorcerer?"

Gwen laughed, a cold and chilling sound. It was not Gwen's laugh.

Arthur bolted upright, eyes wide in horror. He knew that laugh. He'd heard it many times, and each time he'd hated it more. He knew who was there, but he didn't dare believe it.

"King Arthur," greeted Mystral, smiling sweetly at him.

**A/N:** I wasn't expecting to finish this tonight, but who am I to begrudge the finishing of a chapter? So, Mystral has appeared to Arthur.

Is he losing it as well? Or is she really there? Perhaps she's a spirit, haunting them? Will these questions never end? I don't know. Actually, my fingers wrote this of their own accord, so your guess is as good as mine. This has completely changed the plot I had planned, so...hm. Any suggestions are welcome, really. Don't hold back.

Thanks so much for reading! I greatly appreciate it. ^-^b


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Arthur bolted upright, eyes wide in horror. He knew that laugh. He'd heard it many times, and each time he'd hated it more. He knew who was there, but he didn't dare believe it.

"King Arthur," greeted Mystral, smiling sweetly at him.

"How?" he uttered, horrified. He pushed himself to his feet, and quickly cast his gaze about for a weapon. It fell on the goblet on Gwen's bedside table, and he snatched it up. He raised it menacingly as he turned back to the sorceress, despite knowing that it was really quite pointless. A goblet would do nothing, especially considering he didn't have the element of surprise as they'd had in the cells. Yet somehow having something in his hand made him feel more in control.

As he turned back to face her he blinked in surprise, brow furrowing in confusion. The king whipped his head in both directions, searching for Mystral, who had disappeared without a trace in the split second he'd looked away. When Arthur didn't spot her in the room, he flung himself toward the door and wrenched it open. Perhaps she had gone out into the hall, but the torch-lit corridor was devoid of her presence.

Arthur's mind was reeling. Why had he seen Mystral? Was he losing his mind as well? Or was the stress getting to him? Or, he thought darkly, perhaps he really hadn't killed Mystral. God, he was such a fool! If Merlin had been seeing her for all this time, he really was still being tortured - in Arthur's domain. How could he be king of Camelot if he couldn't even protect one man? Just one man - his friend, his manservant! Gods!

But that raised another question: Why had Mystral shown herself, if she was indeed really there? How was she concealing herself, traipsing around the castle without detection? How had she survived?

Arthur belatedly realized that his feet were moving, and that Gwen's goblet was clutched tightly in his fist. He set it on a passing windowsill, painfully aware that it would do no good against a sorcerer. It only took him a moment to realize that he was heading towards Gaius', and he quickened his pace agreeably. Gaius always had the answers.

The sun had long before set. He hoped the old physician was still awake. And alone. He didn't particularly feel like explaining what had happened, what he had seen, to any of his knights. Or Gwen. Or any random servants hanging about.

He reached Gaius' quarters far more quicker than he should have. Arthur must have been moving quite briskly. He cast the thought from his mind as he raised his fist and rapped his knuckles against the rickety door. There was a shuffling sound, and Arthur released a breath as he recognized whose they were. Gaius pulled open the door, and looked quite surprised to see Arthur.

"Sire," he said, stepping back, "come in. What can I do for you?"

Arthur crossed the threshold and looked about the room warily. "Merlin?" he inquired.

"Sleeping," Gaius replied, raising his eyebrow.

"Do not," Arthur said, turning and fixing his blue eyes onto Gaius', "under any circumstances, tell anyone what I am about to tell you."

Gaius pulled the door shut and locked it silently. The expression on his face told Arthur that he was aware of the direness of the conversation to take place, and that he would not breathe a word of it. The physician invited Arthur to take a seat at the table with a gesture of his hand, and the king did so, sitting at Merlin's usual place. Gaius sat as well and looked at Arthur expectantly. The king took a moment to gather his wits about him, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I saw Mystral," he blurted at last, looking up to gauge the man's reaction.

Gaius solemnly raised the Eyebrow. "In a dream?" he asked slowly.

"No," Arthur shook his head. "I mean, I was lying in bed, but I was not sleeping. I heard the door open, and thought it was Gwen, so I started talking. But the laugh, it was not Gwen's, Gaius. It was Mystral's. And when I looked up, she was standing there. I looked away for just a second - less than a second, really - and then she was gone, without a single trace." Arthur waved his hands beside his head as though it demonstrated the extent to which the sorceress had disappeared.

Gaius studied him for a long moment, as though waiting for him to continue, so Arthur did. "Gaius, I...I think she's still alive. And here, in Camelot."

Gaius slowly nodded his head. "Sire, are you absolutely certain?" The unsaid question whether Arthur was letting the stress of running the kingdom whilst worrying about Merlin and his hallucinations was not causing his own hung in the air between them.

The king shook his head defiantly. "I know what I saw, Gaius."

"I am sure, Sire," Gaius said cautiously. "But that does not mean Merlin's sightings of her are real. As you are aware, in his most recent episode, neither you nor I saw her where he did."

"She could have used magic," Arthur said. "Or she's, I don't know, a spirit or something, haunting us!"

"Sire," Gaius started again, but they were interrupted by the warning bells suddenly tolling throughout the castle.

"Intruder," Arthur said at once, standing so quickly that his chair nearly toppled over. Both shared a startled look, which quickly dawned into realization on Arthur's. "Mystral!" he hissed from behind clenched teeth.

With that, he rushed out of the chambers, nearly forgetting to unlock the door. He was not running, but was not walking, either. Hearing steps behind him, Arthur shot a glance over his shoulder. "Shouldn't you stay with Merlin?" he asked a bit pointedly.

Gaius huffed along behind him. "Merlin will sleep through the night. I've made sure of the dosage. If the intruder is the sorceress, you'll mayhap need my knowledge, Sire."

Arthur considered this for a moment, without halting, then nodded and slightly slowed his pace so that Gaius could keep up. Upon reaching the council room doors, the guards opened them, announcing his arrival. Several advisors were already present: those who had not been roused from sleep and hurried to dress, as well as Leon, who had likely been on duty.

"What's going on?" Arthur demanded, stopping at the head of the table. He was mostly addressing Sir Leon, but he would take anyone's answer.

"Sire," Leon said, and the king directed his attention to him. The knight seemed to balk a bit, which was unusual for the brave man, but he plundered on. "Sir Elyan and I were making our nightly rounds, when we spotted someone entering the castle. She was cloaked, but as she passed the entrance she let down her hood, and there was...was no mistaking her, Sire."

Arthur gave him a grim expression.

Leon, as uncomfortable as he was, said, "It was Mystral, Sire."

The king's eyes closed for a moment as a wave of emotion washed over him. Part of it was relief, relief that he and Merlin were not losing their minds. Another part was angry and grief-stricken - Why had she not died? He'd strangled her with his own hands! How could he be so careless as to let her live?! There were a few other warring feelings that he didn't take the time to recognize; rather, he shoved them away and opened his eyes.

"Find her at any cost," he ordered. "She is to be killed on sight."

"Yes, Sire," Leon said.

"Post guards outside Gaius' chambers. No doubt she will come for him," Arthur said, thinking rapidly. She'd already appeared to him several times, likely with magic to conceal herself from those besides Merlin. He hoped she wouldn't be able to slip past the guards.

At that moment, the queen whisked into the room, skirts slightly raised to accommodate her quick steps. "What's happened?" she asked, looking worried.

"Intruder," Arthur answered as Leon slipped past her with a respectful nod to carry out his orders. "Nothing to worry about."

She regarded her husband for only a split second more before turning to Gaius. "I've went to see you in your chambers but a moment ago," she said, her worried look unappeased. "You weren't there, so I checked in on Merlin."

"He's still sleeping, M'lady," Gaius said.

"No," she shook her head, now looking quite alarmed. "Merlin was not in his bed."

Arthur and Gaius both jolted. Before anyone could react, Arthur was out of the door, running back to the physician's chambers. Had Mystral already reached him? She couldn't have! If she had, then she'd have had to pass either Arthur or Gaius. They hadn't even been gone that long, and if Gwen had arrived shortly after them then that would have given her only a few moments at the most to get to the injured man. But Merlin was indeed injured, and drugged into a deep sleep, and would have put up little or no fight. Mystral, as a sorceress, would have an easy time of escaping with him in tow.

The king cursed loudly as he careened around the corner, nearly knocking over the two guards who were on their way to their new station. Gaius' door was left wide open, probably by Gwen, but to Arthur's mind that fact was forgotten. In his mind, Mystral had left it open to flaunt her power, mocking the king for yet another failure. Nevertheless, Arthur flew into the room, and his eyes fell on the second open door. Inside he could see Merlin's bed. Empty.

Panting, he ran his fingers through his already disheveled blond hair. By that time the guards had arrived, looking a bit apprehensive. "Sire?" one asked.

"Find him!" Arthur barked. "Find him!"

Startled like wild deer, both guards turned heel and ran back the way they'd come to spread the order. They hadn't needed to ask whom Arthur had meant. Arthur paced a few steps, still running his hands through his hair as though it would calm his reeling mind. Mystral had Merlin. She'd taken him. He was gone again, caught in the clutches of the evil sorcerer. She would hurt him. Kill him.

No.

Arthur would not let that happen. He would not let Merlin die at her hands. He'd been through far too much already. Arthur had let him down before, and again, and he'd be damned if he made one more mistake!

The king ran back out of Gaius'. He needed to return to his own room, where his sword and armor were. He cursed himself for not thinking to grab them. Why was he so foolish?! As he rushed by, he was dimly aware of the knights and guards alike running about in pairs, weapons at the ready. A few servants were scurrying around as well, though whether they were helping to search Arthur didn't know. He didn't care either way, as long as no one stopped him.

He took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the burning in his lungs and chest and legs. He did not deserve a rest, not when Merlin was captive and likely in pain - and scared. Terribly scared. Arthur was scared, too. He'd never admit it aloud, but he was. He hated it.

Arthur finally, after what felt like years, reached his room and slammed the door open. It flung open and hit the wall with a crash. The king stopped short, nearly forgetting to breathe at the sight that greeted him.

Merlin had whipped around and was staring at Arthur with wide, confused eyes. He was sitting with his legs folded beneath him: a position that to Arthur didn't look too comfortable. Despite Merlin's confusion, his eyes traversed Arthur's face and then his body, apparently searching for wounds. Finding none, he raised his eyes to Arthur's still shocked ones. Receiving no answer from them, he turned his head and looked around as though he'd never seen Arthur's room before.

"Merlin!" Arthur choked out. "What in the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"I..." Merlin's brow furrowed and he looked back at Arthur again. "I don't...know. I can't remember."

Arthur gaped at him for a moment, but when Merlin looked a bit more panicked, he shut his dropped jaw and cleared his throat. "Right, then," he said, strutting forward. He spotted his sword lying on the table and made for it. "Everyone's been looking for you. Don't be alarmed, Merlin, but there's an intruder in the castle."

Merlin didn't reply, too busy trying to stand on shaking legs. Though he scoffed outwardly, Arthur was very concerned. According to Gaius, Merlin should have slept through the night. Had he been forcefully woken? How had he gotten to Arthur's room?

Arthur tugged Merlin up by the arm, as gently as he could, raising his sword in his other hand. "I'll take you to Gaius. He's in the council room with the others. You'll be protected there while we track down the intruder." If he could help it, Merlin wouldn't know that the intruder was a sorcerer, certainly not that it was Mystral, until after she was dead - for good, this time. There was no reason to frighten the poor manservant more than he already was.

"But Arthur," Merlin protested as he was dragged along behind him, stumbling.

"No buts, Merlin," Arthur interrupted, nudging the door wider with the toe of his boot. "Just stay behind me." He wanted to add, "I'll keep you safe," but the words stuck in his throat. Before he could dislodge them, however, a sharp pain exploded at the base of his head. A blinding white light flashed, instantly replaced by the nothingness of unconsciousness.

He was out before he crumpled to the cold floor. His sword fell from his limp fingers, clattering out of reach. A distorted reflection splayed across the polished metal.

"But the intruder's already here," Merlin smirked, eyes flashing gold. He calmly stepped over Arthur's form and picked up the sword, holding it up as though to study it. The reflection was Mystral's.

**A/N:** Methinks Mystral is becoming far more powerful than I had ever originally intended. Sorry for the shortness. I really wanted to finish this up tonight, and since I had already planned out the next few chapters I didn't want to push it.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Wishing you a great holiday!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Arthur woke groggily, head pounding. Where was he? Why was he so cold?

Mystral. In Camelot. Took Merlin. Didn't take Merlin. Merlin!

He bolted upright, everything suddenly coming back to him. Where was Merlin? Casting his gaze about, he immediately recognized his surroundings: the cell from Mystral's castle. He cursed aloud.

Arthur suddenly became aware that he wasn't alone. He whipped his head to one side, instantly regretting it for the pain it caused. But the pain faded quickly enough when he saw a drowsy but lucid Merlin. Merlin removed his hand from Arthur's shoulder, having shaken him awake. He did, however, keep his worried gaze fixated on Arthur.

The king regarded his manservant for a long moment, eyes narrowed. "What happened?" he asked at last.

Merlin shook his head and shrugged before tucking his arms back around his midsection. It was then that Arthur realized that Merlin was shivering in his nightshirt. Hardly protection against the damp cold of the cell.

The Merlin that had knocked him unconscious in his chambers had been dressed in his usual ridiculous way. He should have known something was wrong immediately. Arthur kicked himself. Why, oh why, was he so prone to mistakes recently? It was hardly becoming of any man, let alone a king!

"It's hot in here," Arthur lied smoothly, shrugging out of his padded shirt. Once out of it he tossed it in Merlin's general direction.

Merlin quietly and gratefully accepted it, relishing the warmth it gave. Arthur watched him out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you all right?" he asked finally. Merlin looked over to him, with an unreadable expression that almost unsettled Arthur. "I mean when we escape, I don't want to be carrying your clumsy arse the whole way home."

Merlin's brow furrowed, cocking his head to one side as though he were unsure of how to respond. Arthur frowned. Normally Merlin would have been talking his ear off the moment he had woken, regardless of whether his jaw hurt or not. Something was obviously wrong.

"King Arthur. Merlin," said a familiar voice.

Before Arthur turned to face the sorceress, he saw the way Merlin instantly stiffened, eyes going wide and doe-like. He was so tense that his body's tremors stopped for a moment, and then returned with a vengeance: the shivering from the cold coupled with the fearful quivering.

Arthur hoped that if he could Merlin he wasn't terrified, he would calm a bit as well. Thus he looked at Mystral coolly, taking in her innocent yet evil smirk. "You lied," he said.

Mystral raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You had said, when we were last here, that you were not going to ransom us. Yet, according to the party led by my wife the day we escaped, informed me that you had, indeed, ransomed us."

"Ah, yes," the witch said thoughtfully. "I had forgotten. In any case, I did not ransom you for the money. You see, you escaped before the game was finished. Your wife was due to arrive to collect you then, after it was all over."

"Game?" Arthur repeated, vaguely aware that Merlin had yet to move aside from his quaking. Normally, despite his fear, Merlin would have spoken up by now with some witty retort meant to goad their captor. His worry only increased.

Mystral's knowing smile frustrated Arthur. He knew then that he would not get a reply to what her game had been, or was. So he changed his question.

"How are you still alive?"

"I have my ways, King Arthur," she replied. Her eyes slowly shifted to Merlin. "He can't speak, so you know."

Arthur jolted in alarm, eyes shooting to Merlin's tight lips and then to his throat. He didn't see any blood or bruising, but that meant nothing. She could have used magic to sever his vocal cords, or snip out his tongue. Merlin was still frozen to his spot, shaking like a leaf.

"Don't worry, it's just a spell," she said, "sticking his tongue to his mouth. See, if the toy screams, it's all fun, but talking toys always get so boring. It's much better listening to the other sounds."

Rage boiled up inside Arthur, and his fingers itched to wrap around her throat again. He would strangle her again and again and again, and he would never tire of it. She would deserve it. She did deserve it. But he couldn't. He was the one trapped, not her. He would have to play it well.

"What do you want with us?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "We're finishing the game. I didn't get my full fun with Merlin."

At the mention of his name Merlin stiffened again. A change overcame Merlin's features, and Arthur watched it happen with awe. The manservant sat up straight, stopped shaking, and swiveled his head toward Mystral. He leveled his eyes with her, glaring at her with a hate that might have rivaled Arthur's. The king didn't think he'd ever seen such a look on kind, clumsy, innocent Merlin. And he didn't like it one bit.

Arthur found his body moving of its own accord, but when he realized what he was doing he didn't stop it. Rather, he carried through with the motion more vigorously. The king put himself between Mystral and Merlin, glaring defiantly at the sorceress.

Her smile only widened a bit, and gold flashed within her irises. For a split second Arthur found himself weightless, a nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach as he discovered his hidden talent for flight. But too suddenly his back hit the wall hard, driving the breath from his lungs, and the world tilted precariously to one side. When he realized that he was stuck to the wall by an invisible force, feet kicking a few inches off of the floor, he struggled.

Merlin's cry of surprise halted his efforts. He could only watch in horror as his trusted manservant was yanked forward by unseen magic, slamming him face-first into the iron bars. Arthur was even more horrified by the resounding clang that muffled Merlin's grunt of pain. His struggles were renewed, but to no avail. He just couldn't win against magic.

Desperate to stall, Arthur called out the first thing that came to his head: "Wait!" he gasped, grateful that he could still speak. "Where are my knights? Where are they? Shouldn't they be here, too? Are they not part of the game?"

Mystral paused thoughtfully. It didn't escape Arthur how utterly terrified Merlin looked. If he were more truthful with himself he would admit that he felt the same. But he was the king, and kings couldn't afford such luxury as emotions.

"I'd have to go back for them," Mystral said, looking at Arthur as though asking for his input.

He nodded encouragingly. "Yes, yes," he agreed. "The knights are a part of the game. We cannot start without them. You must go and fetch them, yes."

Mystral nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "I will go and fetch them, and return as quickly as I can." With that, she spun on her heel and stalked away.

As soon as she had, both he and Merlin had slumped to the floor, unbound by the wretched magic that had held them. Arthur pushed himself immediately toward Merlin, who had gone back to his frightful shivering. It appeared that the poor manservant was still unable to speak, though whether that was the spell or the fear Arthur didn't know.

The king turned Merlin's face upward to look at it. Merlin's eyes were scrunched closed, and his jaw was clenched, which Arthur thought wasn't good for the healing fracture. If it hadn't been broken by its meeting with the bars, that was. A bruise was forming over his left eye, but aside from that Arthur could see no damage. He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Come on, Merlin," he said, bustling the man up so that he could move him back to the wall where they had woken. Once Merlin was settled he picked up his discarded shirt, shook it out, and laid it over Merlin's body.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't believe his luck! He hadn't planned on damning his knights to be captured again, but then again he hadn't believed Mystral would have played into his hand. If they were lucky, she would be apprehended and killed when she returned for them. That would leave them to discover that Arthur was missing along with Merlin, and might be quick about forming a rescue party.

Or if he could escape with Merlin while Mystral was gone.

The king cast his eyes about for any escape. The door was locked, as he had expected. No windows, no weak spots in the wall. Nothing.

Hearing Merlin shuffling around behind him, Arthur turned. He was surprised to see Merlin tugging off his woolen sock. "Merlin?" he asked, concerned. It was cold, so he really should be leaving the sock on his foot. He watched as Merlin shook it, as though there were a rock in it. To the king's surprise, something did fall out of it: a small knife.

Merlin smiled a bit sheepishly at Arthur's incredulous expression, and picked up the knife with shaking fingers. He extended it the king, who moved forward and snatched it up, then looked down at it as though not believing it was really there. He looked back up at Merlin. "Why on earth are you carrying a knife in your sock, Merlin?" he demanded. "That's incredibly dangerous. But thank the gods you were, in any case. But I still expect a full explanation later."

He turned and set to picking the lock, careful not to slice his fingers. Merlin quietly pulled his sock back onto his foot and returned to his huddled position. He rearranged Arthur's shirt to get the most warmth from it. Then he settled back and watched Arthur's back.

The king was skillful, to say the least. In a matter of minutes, he had jimmied the lock, and the door squealed open. He looked smugly over his shoulder at Merlin, who had broken out into a grin.

"Right, then," he said. "Shall we get the hell out of here?"

Merlin pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward. He was still a bit dizzy from the sleeping draft, and was still having a bit trouble of fighting it off. Arthur grabbed his arm, steadying him, and they started off cautiously but quickly. Arthur hoped the guards were not nearby. At least he remembered the way out - he hoped.

It was always times like these when Arthur missed his sword the most. At least, he mused upon reaching the top of the steps that led out of the dungeon, the guards were missing as well. He nearly laughed when it saw his sword waiting for him, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. He picked it up and shot an incredulous, derisive snort to Merlin, who smiled. Then the men sobered and mutually quickened pace, aware that they could be running out of time before Mystral returned. Arthur did indeed remember the way out: he made the right turns and all, passing the doors he knew were useless to them at the moment. Soon enough, they saw the great entrance door.

The king reached it and slammed it open, glad it was unlocked because if it weren't, he would never live it down. He could just hear Merlin's self-made words taunting him for his blunder. Tightening his grip on both the hilt of his sword and Merlin's wrist, Arthur strode forward. There was a bit of chill as Arthur passed through the doorway, but before he could fully register it, Merlin's wrist was suddenly wrenched from his hand with surprising force, and Merlin cried out in pain.

Arthur skidded slightly as he whipped around, eyes wide. His first thought was that Mystral had returned, but all he saw was Merlin lying on the floor just inside the castle. "Merlin!" he hissed. The idiot had probably slipped. Merlin raised his eyes to the king, looking equally startled.

Feeling more anxious by the second, Arthur moved to haul Merlin back to his feet - and bounced off an invisible barrier bounded by the doorframe. He staggered back, clutching his nose. It was only instinct that kept him from dropping his sword. Both men stared at each other in alarm.

Arthur booted himself out of his paralysis and pressed his palm against the barrier, pushing with all his might. It did nothing. He curled his fingers into a fist and hit it, bruising his hand. It did not give way. By then Merlin had shakily gotten to his feet, staring hard at the empty space between him and his king. He tentatively reached out and pressed his fingertips to the barrier, but this time it did not shock him, which was a relief.

Merlin jerked back in surprise upon seeing Arthur swinging his sword back to strike down. The blade struck the emptiness, ringing loudly and jarring Arthur's arms. He'd hit it with such force that the pain caused him to drop it with a clatter. Arthur growled angrily, running a hand through his hair. For a brief moment he thought by the end of the day he would have no more hair left, but as quickly as the thought came he shoved it away. There were more important things at hand.

He cast his frantic gaze around for anything that might help - and spotted the window that led into the nearest room. Arthur looked back at Merlin. "Stay here," he said. "I'll be right back."

Merlin looked confused. Arthur was about to explain that he would come in through the window in the room next to him when Merlin raised a hand to cup his ear, shaking his head. Damn! The barrier was soundproof as well.

He dragged a hand down his face, then looked aggravatedly at Merlin. Merlin looked back innocently. At least he wasn't so frightened, the king thought. Arthur made the motion for Merlin to wait, holding up his hand as he would to one of his hunting dogs. Merlin stared at it intently, and Arthur made the motion again. The manservant nodded, clearly understanding.

Arthur released a sigh of relief, and then jogged off to the right where the window was. He used his sword, which he'd had the sense to pick up, to lever the window open. Then he tucked the blade into his belt and hoisted himself onto the sill. As he passed through into the room, that chill brushed his skin again. Suddenly he felt as though he'd been struck by Percival during a spar, and the breath whooshed out of his lungs before he'd even hit the ground. He landed flat on his back, stunning him so that he writhed for breath.

It felt as though he'd never breathe again, but just as the thought that he was dying crossed his brain, his lungs suddenly expanded, and he gulped the sweet, forestry air. The haze that had been gathering in the corners of his vision faded away, and he shook his head to further clear it. He looked up warily at the window for a short moment. Then he pushed himself to his feet and inched back to it.

He tentatively reached out, as Merlin had done - and Arthur suddenly realized that Merlin had been shocked as he had. His fingertips met an invisible wall. With a growl of frustration, Arthur stalked over to the next window, drawing his sword to lever it open.

The same happened as before. Arthur only got partway inside before the barrier activated and tossed him gracelessly out again, knocking the wind out of him. The king childishly slammed his fist into the grass, panting harshly. So the windows were out. The entrance door was out. He'd have to find some sort of side entrance, or a siege tunnel. Hopefully Mystral would not return within the time he'd taken to find it and get back to his manservant.

He quickly pushed himself to his feet and started off at a jog. Not a walk, since that was too slow and would take a longer time; not a run, since that was too fast and he could miss just was he was looking for. He turned the corner of the castle, and saw another line of windows. He tried the first one just to make sure it wasn't only the front-facing windows that were blocked, and was unhappily informed by another painful shock that it was indeed. He continued on, racing against the moon.

By the time he had circled the whole perimeter of the castle, and found no such entrance or tunnel, Arthur was gasping for breath. His throat was parched and raw, and he was extremely irritable. He wanted nothing more than to take the sorcerer's head off to alleviate his ire.

He still had no semblance of an idea how he was going to get Merlin out of that wretched place. He didn't look forward to standing in front of his friend and shrugging his shoulders. He took the last few steps on screaming legs, holding his side for the stitch in it. His carefully schooled expression fell instantly when he looked into the doorway.

"Merlin?" he uttered, eyes widening. He threw himself at the barrier and pounded on it frantically. "Merlin!"

Merlin was gone.

**A/N:** Oh noes! What's happened to Merlin? Did Mystral get him? Did Merlin simply go into the next room to await Arthur? Or did Merlin wander off? The possibilities are endless, when it comes to the young warlock, I think.

In any case, thanks so much for reading! I hope you all had a happy holiday~ (Mine was especially good, seeing how I ate all the snacks in my brother's house!) ^-^b

Reuploaded because I'm an idiot. I said Arthur missed his sword, and then when they got outside Arthur suddenly had his sword. So I had to toss in that part about him finding his sword at the top of the stairs. -.-; I'm so stupid, I swear XD


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Merlin cupped his hand over his ear and shook his head at Arthur, who immediately looked both crestfallen and angry. Well, more like frustrated. The manservant struggled not to roll his eyes when the king overly exaggerated the motion for him to stay, as though he were a hound dog. After a moment, Merlin nodded. Arthur gave a satisfactory nod, scooped up his sword and went to the window.

Once he had disappeared from view, Merlin spun on his heel and went back the way they had come, brow furrowed in deep thought. Arthur had killed Mystral, he was quite sure. Under any normal circumstance, Merlin would scoff at the idea that the king and knights had managed to overtake her, but for the fact that though he was most definitely feverish and hallucinating, he knew she had died - at least for a while. So there must have been something that had anchored her life, or at least held her soul until her body had healed, or something of that nature.

It was dark magic indeed, and Merlin would not have heard of it had he not come across an obscure mention of it in some long forgotten, dusty tome in the very back of the library. The things one could find while hiding from both Arthur and Geoffrey of Monmouth in the middle of the night.

But that was besides the point.

What was important was finding whatever was anchoring Mystral to the world of the living. By all rights she should have died. Once it was broken or otherwise destroyed, then Mystral should die, or at least be able to be killed for good. The hardest part would be finding the anchor.

Merlin opened every door he came across and peered into the rooms. They were mostly the same: bed chambers with a clothed bed, a dressing screen, a fire grate, and a small nightstand. There would have to be something that stood out - even though his magic had abandoned him, Merlin could still feel the wards suppressing him. That, at least, should mean that when he came across the anchor he would feel the power radiated from it as well. At least, he hoped so.

The farther he went back into the castle, the more worried he began to feel. Mystral could be back at any time. Really, Merlin should have been hiding. But where? It was Mystral's castle. In just the blink of an eye, she could probably appear before him and drag him back to the dungeon. Merlin wouldn't be able to fight back, in any case. He was weak and vulnerable without his magic. He hated feeling that way. He imagined that would be how Arthur would feel if his sword arm were chopped off. The warlock smiled grimly at that thought. Without his magic, he really was quite useless. It was no wonder Mystral could so easily hurt him.

Merlin had to stop for a moment and take a few deep breaths, trying to stop the shaking that had suddenly overtaken his body. He couldn't face Mystral's torture again. He would rather die, destiny be damned! Blackness crowded his vision, and he desperately fought it off. "Merlin!" said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Arthur. "Don't be such a girl's petticoat!" Yup, definitely Arthur, the prat.

But somehow it seemed to calm Merlin enough so that he was able to stand straight again. He hadn't even realized he had leaned against the wall for support.

His resolve renewed and hardened, Merlin fervently continued to search for the magical object. He opened each and every door he came across, meandering from one side of the wall to the other. There had to be something! It could have been anything: an old sock, a favorite pillow, a cup, anything! He prayed that he would be able to feel its magic - and destroy it.

But what could it be?!

He was getting nowhere. His search thus far had been fruitless. A horrible thought struck him: What if the object was not in the castle? Or, worse - What if the castle itself was the anchor? He'd have to burn it to the ground...With him in it.

Before his frustration got the better of him, Merlin forced himself to stop and stand still. He took a moment to catch his breath. Then he closed his eyes, and he concentrated. After a moment, he felt a familiar spark deep within him, and comforted smile touched his lips.

He slowly opened his eyes. Merlin found himself in the first hallway Arthur had led him through. At the end of the hallway was the doorway that went down into the dungeon. Merlin's eyes shifted and then landed on the nearest door to the dungeon. It was familiar, though he did not understand why. Trusting his gut feeling, Merlin moved toward it.

Upon opening it, he realized that it was no different from any of the other rooms - except that it was. The bed was missing its top cover, revealing a blood-stained sheet. A pile of stiff, blackened rags were halfway hidden beneath the bed as though they had been kicked hastily, and on the bedside table with a silver goblet and plate mottled with molding bread crumbs. Some obscure flash of insight led Merlin to believe that this room was the one in which the knights had attempted to treat him before deciding to risk taking him back to Camelot. It was almost endearing to think about.

Merlin's eyes landed on the standing mirror beside the changing screen. None of the other rooms had mirrors. It had to be what he was looking for.

He approached it hesitantly. It looked to be an ordinary mirror. Just a simple, ordinary looking glass that radiated power, that was. His feet stumbled a bit as he neared, and that was what chiefly alerted him to the wrongness of the mirror. As Merlin tried to catch his footing, he reared his head to regain some semblance of balance - he caught his reflection. It stood as tall as he had just before his stumble. Merlin halted, terror creeping up his innards and clutching at his throat. His mirror image smirked at him. Merlin was quite certain that he was not smirking, even raised his hand to check. As he touched his lips, his other self did not. What he spotted next raised the hairs on the back of his neck. The Merlin in the mirror's eyes glowed gold.

Merlin shuddered and tore his gaze from it to look about the room. He needed to destroy the mirror. His magic was out of the question, so he definitely needed something hard, like...like the goblet! The warlock fetched it and went back to where he had been standing. He didn't dare go closer. Not-Merlin's eyes had narrowed dangerously.

His fear of Not-Merlin was overridden by his fear of Mystral's imminent return, and he hurled the cup at the mirror. The looking glass splintered, cracks spiderwebbing across it, but all that happened was that his frightening reflection multiplied. Each of the images smiled at him, the disconcerting gold eyes looking quite snake-like. Was that what he really looked like each time he used his magic?

Merlin's heart thudded in his chest, hard and fast. He half expected to leap out, or even stop. But it did neither, and after a moment's hesitation Merlin retrieved the cup from where it had rolled to a halt. He put more force behind his next throw; so much that for an awful moment he thought his arm might wrench out of its socket again.

The glass shattered more, but was still intact. The grinning, magical Not-Merlins tripled.

Frustrated, and more than a little scared, Merlin tried once more. He stooped to pick up the cup that had boomeranged back to his feet, and lifted it. He gave a shriek of surprise and nearly dropped it as his eyes landed on the mirror.

The Not-Merlins were gone.

In their place were gold-eyed, scowling Mystrals.

Merlin whipped around, pale as a sheet. The real Mystral was looking at him with the disappointed eyes of a parent. "That was my favorite mirror," she said sadly.

Behind her, standing stock-still, were other knights. Judging from the livid looks on their faces, they were under Mystral's magical influence. Merlin tore his eyes from them as Mystral moved to look around the room. He felt sick.

"Where is King Arthur?" she murmured. Her brow creased ever-so-slightly. After a moment of terse silence, she answered her own question, "Arthur left." Her eyes landed on Merlin, lips curling in a sneer. "He left you, Merlin."

An angry, disbelieving noise came unmistakably from Gwaine's throat. It was apparent that none of them could speak, same as Merlin. Merlin was still frozen where he was, cup white-knuckled in his hand. If he thought his heart was pounding before, it had been nothing compared to then.

"You two tried to escape together," Mystral continued. "He passed through the door first, setting off the barrier. You were trapped inside, and he trapped outside. It's too bad, really. He's going to miss the game."

Merlin's knees began to shake. There it was again: the game. What was the game? How could she make such a whimsical word sound so foreboding, so threatening?

He tried to resist the urge to shoot a pleading look to the knights, knowing full well that they could do no more than he. But his eyes moved of his own accord, first meeting Gwaine's. The man looked positively enraged, and it was obvious he was struggling with all his might to move, to grab his sword and swing it. All he could manage was an occasional twitch of his fingers.

Somehow it gave Merlin a bit of courage.

Before he even knew really what he was doing, Merlin hurled the goblet at Mystral, aiming for her head. She narrowed her eyes, which flashed gold, and deflected the cup with ease. As she dealt with the projectile, Merlin spun on his heel and lunged for the mirror, hoping to tip it over and spill the glass, breaking the enchantment. With his fingers just inches from it, Merlin suddenly became weightless. Less than a second later, his back painfully met the wall, and he crumpled to the floor, winded.

Another cry of outrage from Gwaine, along with another voice Merlin couldn't place at the moment.

A sense of urgency made Merlin glance up, still wheezing. He was horrified to see that, for the first time, Mystral looked angry. Furious. It was not a pretty sight. Her face contorted, brow furrowed. Her bared teeth nearly resembled sharp fangs, though that had to be Merlin's imagination.

He didn't get a chance to process anything further. Searing pain tore through Merlin's body, stemming from nowhere but everywhere at once. It burned, it stung, it ached and throbbed and he didn't know what else but it did. Distantly he heard someone screaming in agony, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him. Merlin curled into himself on the floor, desperate to the stop the pain but doing nothing to alleviate it. He writhed, trying to find any position that would lessen his agony. He found none.

The torture went on for ages.

When the pain finally withdrew, it left Merlin gasping for air. The room spun dangerously, and he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut to stay the dizziness. His nails dug into the stone floor in an attempt to root himself to the spot. Some distant part of his brain not experiencing what he felt told him that his bladder had let loose, and that he should be ashamed, but Merlin told it to shut up. He couldn't care less about what anyone thought of him for wetting himself; he hurt too much.

Mystral's cold voice cut through the haze clouding Merlin's thoughts. "I bore of this," she said. "The game will continue now, regardless of King Arthur's whereabouts. The final stage begins. Sirs Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, if you please."

Merlin lifted his head, the ache in his body dulling enough so that the black in his vision receded. For a split second, relief washed over him as he saw that the knights were moving toward him. They must have broken through her spell. They were coming to help him!

But then he saw their faces, and they most certainly did not please. They were still struggling, and now looked apprehensive. Mystral, behind them, was smirking cruelly, eyes wide with anticipation. She was still in control.

The warlock suddenly became aware of how close the knights were. Terror seized him. He pushed himself onto his knees, searching for an escape. But he was too late.

Percival swooped down, and, with a vice-like grip, jerked him to his feet. Merlin might have fallen back to the floor with a crash had the knight not held onto his sore shoulder, squeezing it for all its worth. Merlin winced and tried to pry the fingers away, but it was futile. The other knights surrounded him.

For a beat, nothing happened, and Merlin thought that maybe, just maybe, Mystral's game was only to scare the life out of him. Leon's hand came up and slammed into Merlin's chest, shoving him hard. Again, he might have fallen had Percival not been holding him, and for Elyan standing behind him and shoving him forward.

Merlin was horribly reminded of the Lamia incident. Only this was so much worse. This time, the knights were aware of their actions, desperately trying to stop themselves but unable to do so. Merlin knew the guilt would kill them. The knights looked horrified at what they were being forced to do. Merlin wouldn't blame them for whatever happened, he couldn't. He wanted to tell them, but his tongue was as stuck as theirs.

All the air whooshed out of Merlin's lungs from the first punch to the gut - from Gwaine, whose tears fell fast and hard. Merlin tried to double over and catch his breath, giving Gwaine a reassuring look (he hoped). But boots and fists alike began to rain down on him, worse than the beating from the guards months ago. The physical pain was crushing, but the emotional trauma he faced from his friends hurting him was so much worse. Worse still, the knights couldn't stop.

They hit repeatedly. His cries of pain and ragged gasps for breath cut them to the core, but Merlin could no less hold them back than they their fists. He heard a rib crack, and knew they did, too, but still they hit him. His face was bloody and swollen: blood dripped from his nose into his mouth, choking him with each gasp. Merlin didn't want to know the state of his stomach and chest, but if the pain was anything to go by it was not good.

Merlin had never been so scared. He'd faced magical beasts of all sorts, undead armies, and even tried to trade his life for Arthur's on numerous occasions, but he never wanted nor imagined to go out like this. In his nightmares, particularly after the Lamia incident, Merlin had been hurt by his friends once they had discovered his magic, but even in nightmares they never hit so hard, so cruelly, so relentlessly. Mystral planned on having the knights kill him, he knew that. The knights would never forgive themselves, and neither would Arthur.

He felt his magic stir, deep in his stomach, and he lurched for it.

Merlin didn't know what he did, but Percival suddenly dropped him. The warlock crumpled bonelessly to the floor, curling in on himself to protect his bruised torso and face. His arms wrapped around his head, granting a reprieve for it.

But it didn't stop the knights. Since their hands were out of reach and they didn't seem able to bend well, they resorted to stomping and kicking. Boots slammed down on his arms, side, back, and legs. Black crept into the edges of Merlin's vision, though he was certain his eyes were swollen shut. He wanted nothing more than to go into the blissfulness of unconsciousness, but if he did then he would surely die. But was that really so bad at this point? At least then he wouldn't be in any pain. He could see Freya, Will, Balinor. He could see Lancelot. He could see all of his lost loved ones again.

No.

He couldn't.

Arthur needed him.

Merlin needed to live, to fulfill his destiny. No matter how much it hurt, he had to live.

Merlin retreated into his mind, trying to get far enough away from the pain to find that bit of magic that had been born of desperation. It was needed. It had never been so needed before. It had to come back, or he would die.

Where was it?!

Where?!

Where!?

There was an abrupt shriek. Everything suddenly stopped, but the stillness only lasted a split second. Hands were pulling Merlin up, and with a strangled cry he tried to pull away. Mystral had changed tactics. One of the knights was going to strangle him. Merlin couldn't let that happen. Maybe if he gouged the knight's eyes out he would give up. His fingers scrabbled for their targets, but just couldn't seem to reach.

"Arthur!" he heard Gwaine scream. Gwaine screamed? Merlin was sure that none of the knights could speak, like him. In his confusion Merlin didn't realize that he had stopped struggling, and that he was being pulled into someone's embrace. It was a bit comforting, aside from the pain. And then it registered that Arthur's name had been called. The shriek had been Mystral's. Arthur had come!

"The mirror!" Elyan cried, sounding panicked. That was strange; Elyan was hardly ever panicked. "Break the mirror!"

Relief relaxed Merlin. So at least Elyan had been clever enough to deduce what Merlin had been trying to do. The blackness was creeping up on him again, and, deciding that he was in safe hands now, Merlin went to it. Just before he passed out, Merlin heard a crashing sound, followed instantly by an unearthly wail.

And then there was nothing.

**A/N:** Poor Merlin. Even I feel a little bad about all the whump. I mean, jeez. I'm sorry. But I love it, still.

Anyway, this is not finished yet, but will be drawing to a close sometime soon. Then I will be able to focus on the two other stories I'm working on. After I finish those two, I might start another Merlin one with gratuitous whump. I don't know yet.

Thanks for reading! Until next time, my friends.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Broken glass crunched underneath Arthur's boot as his legs carried him to the hunched figures of his knights. Once he had pushed over the mirror, the sorceress had screamed, and disintegrated into ash. A fitting end, he thought. His knights had fallen to their knees, and Gwaine had scrambled forward and scooped Merlin into his arms.

Arthur stared down in horror at his manservant in Gwaine's arms. He was a bloodied pulp, mangled into something that seemed beyond repair. Had his chest not been stuttering for breath, the king would have thought him dead. Rage swelled his breast. Mystral had forced his men to beat him. If he hadn't stopped her, they would have killed him.

But Merlin was in critical condition, again. Because Arthur had left him. Why had he left him? He was such a fool.

The knights seemed shell-shocked. They gaped at their hands, which were limp in their laps, as though they were writhing snakes at the stumps of their arms. It was by their hands that Merlin had been hurt. His blood was on their hands. His suffering on their hands.

Suddenly Gwaine jerked upright and swiveled his head to glare up at Arthur, who had stopped a few steps away. Fresh tears were on his cheeks, eyes still overflowing. "Where were you?" he demanded heatedly. "How could you leave him? He needed you!"

Arthur's anger at Mystral redirected to Gwaine, though he knew the knight was undeserving of it. "We were separated by magic, Sir Gwaine," he said coldly. "I was desperately searching for a way in, while you were killing him."

Gwaine reeled back as though the king had struck him, as did the other knights. Arthur immediately regretted his words, but pride did not allow him to retract them. Gwaine's shoulders slumped as though he bore a great burden, and he turned away from Arthur. All the fight had left him.

The king, trying to rectify his mistake, explained, "We escaped from the dungeon. I remembered the way from the last we were here, and I led him there. I suppose when I passed through the door, it activated some sort of magic shield, and Merlin was trapped inside.

"I went to the side and tried all of the windows, but the shield seemed to encompass the entirety of the castle. I could find no side entrance or siege tunnel, but I did not stray too far. When I came back to the great door, Merlin was gone. I don't know whether he wandered off himself or if Mystral came for him, but either way...

"I could think of nothing else to do. I took my sword," as he spoke he went to the pile of ashes that had once been the witch and picked up his blade, revealing the dullness of it, "and hacked away at the door frame. I'd hoped that if I could destroy the boundary of the barrier it might break, and I could enter. It did work, eventually, and I searched Merlin out. I was drawn to this room by the screams."

The king finished, staring stubbornly down at his sword.

"We," Percival said in a small voice, unbefitting of his huge frame, "we need to bind his wounds...And get him to Gaius."

Arthur cleared his throat. "Right. Can you all walk?"

The knights nodded, pushing themselves to their feet, save for Gwaine, who cradled Merlin protectively. No one mentioned their shaking legs.

"Sirs Leon and Percival," Arthur said in a voice that allowed no room for argument, "go search for water and bandages. Sirs Gwaine and Elyan, let's carefully move Merlin onto the bed. We need to remove his clothes for treatment."

"Yes, Sire," said the knights, even Gwaine.

Gwaine and Elyan carefully lifted Merlin up, who was completely unresponsive, and carried him over to the bed. Elyan held him up gingerly while Gwaine removed his shirt. He bunched the fabric up underneath his armpits, revealed the array of morbidly purple bruising that seemed to encase the frail torso that belonged to Merlin. All three men winced in sympathy, and Gwaine pulled the shirt over Merlin's head, and Elyan laid him down as the shirt was at last pulled from his arms.

For a long beat the men stared at the damage, unsure of what to do. Then Merlin took a rattling breath, and they were suddenly reminded of his ribs. Arthur stepped forward and gently probed his right side. Gwaine and Elyan moved back. Normally Gwaine would insist on caring for Merlin, but in this case he was quite sure he was incapable. His hands shook too much, and he was very much aware of the bruises on his knuckles. He had not been able to pull his punches even a little, and he was sure none of the others had as well. Poor Merlin.

"At least two are broken," Arthur announced. "Four more are possibly fractured, and the rest are probably bruised." He straightened and looked down at Merlin, not bothering to glance back at his knights. He could feel the shame coming from them.

At that moment, Leon and Percival returned, stocked with linens and water. Percival's gaze immediately landed on Merlin's shoulder, where a very obvious, hand-shaped bruise was. Guilt clouded his eyes, and he quickly averted them, setting down the two buckets he had procured.

"Right, then," Arthur said. "We need to bind his ribs."

Leon dumped the linens on the bed, within easy reach. Each of the knights took one and began tearing them into long strips. Arthur let his gaze rest on the stuttering rise and fall of Merlin's chest. After a moment, his eyes began to travel, first to the growing pile of new bandages, and then to Merlin's swollen face. He was hardly recognizable. Feeling a bit sick, he averted to his eyes to assess any damage he might have missed that could use bandaging. There was no apparent bleeding on Merlin's head, which was good, and none on the pillow beneath it so Arthur was content that his head wasn't bleeding.

Until he turned Merlin's head to check the other side and saw the red spots on the sheet.

"His ear is bleeding," Arthur said. Then he looked closer. "There is blood coming out of his ear."

Gwaine cursed loudly, but continued to fervently tear the linen in his hand.

Merlin was bleeding on the inside, Arthur was sure. He had no idea what to do about it, and from the lack of instruction from his knights, he judged that they didn't either. The urgency to get the manservant to Gaius increased dramatically.

The king looked down at Merlin's abdomen as though just noticing the bruises, and stared intently at them. He tried to discern whether his innards were bleeding, but he couldn't tell. No doubt Gaius could. The bruises were darkening yet, and somehow he knew that Merlin was still bleeding underneath his skin. He just hoped it wasn't so serious as it seemed.

Arthur half expected Merlin to moan in pain, perhaps open his squinted eyes in a bit of confusion. Something witty would come from his lips, perhaps a bit slurred still from his healing jaw (if it hadn't been broken again), and they would all have a bit of a laugh and then go home. But for some reason, Merlin didn't do any of those things, and Arthur was left with his fretting mind. He desperately tried to not show it, though. It was unkingly.

"Sire," Leon said quietly, as though hoping Arthur wouldn't hear him.

But Arthur did hear him, and he glanced up to see that Leon was looking at Merlin sideways, red with shame and guilt. "Yes, Leon?"

"We...There are no horses. The cart we used to pull Merlin is still at Camelot," he said hesitantly. "We'll have to carry him."

Arthur nodded slowly. "All right, then. That can be managed. Merlin's light as a feather, anyway."

The words had tumbled from the king's lips before he had even thought of them. But as the knights winced and looked even more miserable, it was too late. Arthur grimaced as well, and cleared his throat. He found nothing to say. Heavy silence fell over the men, broken only by the rasping of Merlin's breaths.

"We'll take turns carrying him," Arthur said at last. "Only the most necessary stops will be made, as when we can go no farther."

"There were witnesses to our capture," Elyan said. "Gwen has enough sense to send patrols out here. We'll likely run into them along the way, if they're fast about it."

Arthur nodded at the dark knight's input. "Good," he said. "Good."

Since the bandages had been finished, Arthur enlisted Elyan's help in holding Merlin upright so that his ribs could be bound. Still Merlin did not stir. He really needed Gaius, quite immediately. They would have to make a quick job of wrapping him set out. Arthur worried that if they waited any longer, Merlin might really die.

And then suddenly Merlin's eyes were open. He locked his wide, panicked gaze with the king, who blinked at him in shock, jaw dropping slightly. Merlin opened his mouth to speak before Arthur could offer any words of explanation - or dare he say it, comfort. All that came from Merlin was a tiny squeak, followed by a cough. And a dribble of blood down his chin. Arthur recoiled as the manservant lurched forward, gagging silently.

Bile and blood came up, splashing down the bandages Arthur had just wound around him and staining the front of his trousers and the sheet between his legs. The stark red mixed with greenish yellow was striking and sickening. Arthur found that he couldn't breathe, so in shock was he.

Elyan was frozen as well, hands still holding Merlin up. The other three knights were also horror-struck. Merlin wheezed twice, eyes glazing over. Then his eyes altogether rolled back into his head, and he slumped back into Elyan and became still.

No one moved. It was too sudden. Too wrong. They must have imagined that. That wasn't blood that Merlin had vomited up. He wasn't lying impossibly still. He wasn't dead.

Every man's shoulders sagged in relief when Merlin took a small breath. He was still alive. But his breathing had become fast and shallow. It was obvious that he was losing the battle for his life. No one said so aloud.

Gwaine was the first to move, tentatively reaching forward with a strip of linen in his hand. He wiped the bloody vomit tenderly from Merlin's chin. Elyan glanced down at the now soiled bandages around Merlin's chest, then to Arthur. The king moved forward again and made to take them off and change, but then hesitated. Changing his mind, he lifted another strip from the nearby pile and continued his work. There was no time to waste.

Merlin would not die if Arthur could help it. Merlin was going to live to be an ugly, wrinkly old sod, and he was going to go peacefully in his sleep after having everything he ever wanted in life. He was going to get married to the love of his life, and have multitudes of idiotic, bumbling, clumsy children, and he would see those children married. He would hold his little grandchildren in his arms, and still he would live on, because Arthur wasn't letting the stupid idiot go off and die far from home. He'd box his ridiculous ears if he even tried to die. Merlin was not. Going. To die. Not here. Not now. Not after everything he'd been through.

"Sire," Leon said gently, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

It wasn't until Arthur blinked and looked up that he realized tears were streaming down his cheeks. Merlin's bandages were finished off. The king quickly cleared his throat and stepped back, casually reaching up and scrubbing his face with a hand. He suspected he did little but smear the wetness around, but none of the knights commented on it. In fact, Gwaine and Percival were both crying as well, which made Arthur feel marginally less pathetic.

"We should hurry off, then," the king said a bit thickly, nodding once as though to punctuate his suggestion that was really an order.

The knights nodded in agreement. Percival, the unspoken carrier, ever so gently picked Merlin up in his arms. Everyone was painfully reminded of the Dorocha incident. But no one spoke. The trip through the hallways to the exit was silent as well.

The doorframe was hacked to pieces, splintered away. It was obvious that Arthur had been telling the truth.

As they passed the threshold, they noted that the sun had begun to rise. They had spent all night in that castle. They never wanted to return to it again. Too many bad memories. Painful memories. Awful. Horrible. The castle was diseased, plagued by the evil resident that had inhabited it. It felt good to be out of it.

The knights and their king, with a dying manservant in tow, set out at a brisk pace. They didn't look back. Merlin didn't stir.

By midday they had walked several leagues, and had only halted at several brief intervals so that Merlin could be handed off to a less fatigued knight. Percival had held Merlin the longest, as he was the strongest of the men, but even he'd tired eventually and Gwaine offered to bear their friend. Then Arthur had taken a turn, and then Leon. It was while Leon was carrying Merlin that they were intercepted on the road.

Arthur and the knights drew their swords, immediately gathering to form a protective barrier in front of Leon and Merlin. The approaching party halted several meters away. It was apparent from the way they were cloaked in muted colors that they were Druids.

"Let us pass," Arthur called out. "Step aside."

"Your friend is dying, King Arthur," said one of them, though it was unclear which. Arthur suspected it was the centered man, and directed his attention to him.

"Stand aside," he repeated.

"We mean you no harm." The Druid in the center of the group took a step forward, holding up a placating hand. "We wish only to help you. He is fading fast. He will not last much longer."

"Why would you help us?" Arthur demanded.

"Why would we not?"

The king's eyes narrowed in suspicion. For a long moment, he was torn by his distrust of magic and his desperation to save Merlin. And then he shook himself. The Druid was right, even Arthur could see that Merlin was not long for this world. If there was anything that could save him now, it was magic. He could only put his faith in the Druids, and hope that Merlin would forgive him for using magic. He thought Merlin wouldn't mind, but Merlin was so unpredictable when it came to the topic of magic.

"Sire," Leon said.

Arthur whipped around, as did the other knights, hearts skipping a beat. Had Merlin just...?

Leon shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I...I trust them, Sire. I was saved by Druids years ago, when they could have left me to die. I think their intentions are good."

The king swallowed. Gwaine turned and stared hard at the Druids, and then sheathed his sword. Arthur followed suit, and the Elyan and Percival after him.

Arthur looked wearily at the lead Druid. "Please," he said simply.

"This way, quickly," a Druid said. The cloaked figures moved into the trees, and the men of Camelot followed. Obviously they were moving out of sight from the road. There would be no interruptions, accidental or otherwise.

"Lie him there." Leon placed Merlin gently where a gray-cloaked Druid had indicated, on a clear, mossy place. It was likely where the ground was the softest, and the knights couldn't help but to feel that the Druids had known they were coming. But if the Druids could heal Merlin, all of them were willing to overlook that unsettling fact.

As Leon backed away to stand by the others uncertainly, the Druids made a circle around the prone form. It seemed as though more Druids had come from the trees; most of them must have hidden in case the knights attacked, or to make them feel less threatened. Soon the throng was so thick that they couldn't see Merlin, which was disconcerting. Somehow they managed to stay still so that the Druids could concentrate.

The Druids began to murmur. As the voices rose in volume, it became apparent that the words were ancient, almost sung. The knights listened, entranced. It was a bit calming, despite the strangeness and the underlying fear factor.

After what felt like hours but was really only a few minutes, the Druids silenced. The knights, as one, held their breaths. How was Merlin?

One of the Druids turned to face them, but rather than speaking, he bowed fluidly. Then the cloaked strangers began to dwindle away, like water through fingers. All but one, who was kneeling beside Merlin. Arthur took a hesitant step forward. Merlin was as still as he was before, and he couldn't see his face because the Druid was blocking his view.

Suddenly the man stood and followed the others away, leaving Merlin. Merlin craned his neck to watch his leave.

Arthur laughed. It was a laugh quite similar to the one when he had woken in the clearing to discover that he had killed the Great Dragon - slightly hysterical, and riddled with relief. It drew Merlin's attention, who whipped around to look at him so quickly that he might have given himself whiplash. The bruises on his face were gone without a trace, as were the ones on his arms.

Gwaine, grinning largely, moved forward. "Merlin!" he said.

Merlin flinched violently, raising an arm defensively.

The shaggy knight halted in his tracks, happiness immediately fading. Suddenly Gwaine, and the others, remembered that they had nearly killed him with their own hands. He backtracked shamefacedly, unable to hide his hurt expression.

Merlin looked confused and disoriented. His gaze traveled from each of the knights to Arthur, and then down at his hands, and then at his surroundings. After a moment, Arthur decided that he should intervene.

"Merlin," he said, approaching him cautiously. The manservant slowly sat up, staring at his master. "How are you feeling?"

He seemed to analyze the question, then pressed his palms to his chest. Then Merlin looked down, eyes widening slightly when he saw the state of his bandages and trousers. "Um?" was all he could get out.

"Are you in pain, Merlin?" Arthur asked, a bit impatiently. "Do you feel strange? Different at all? Can you speak?"

Merlin blinked hard. "Slow down, prat," he grumbled, furrowing his brow. "Where are we? What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Arthur narrowed his eyes. Perhaps, if Merlin had forgotten what had really happened, they could say that Mystral used magic to put him in that state. It was technically true, only she had put the magic into the knights' fists.

That plan flew out of the nest when Merlin's eyes slid toward the knights, looking slightly confused and embarrassed. The knights ducked their heads, unable to meet his eyes.

"Mystral was controlling them," Arthur said, softening his voice. He studied Merlin, waiting for a reaction. He didn't doubt that Merlin already knew, but he wanted to reinforce it. The knights were Merlin's friends, and he didn't want anything to come between that.

"I know," Merlin retorted, almost angrily.

It took Arthur aback. In an instant his brain was trying to comprehend the sudden change in mood, and the first plausibility was that the Druids had done something. But then, when Merlin continued to speak, the king realized that the anger was directed at the sorceress.

"Is she dead, then? You killed her?"

"Yes, she's nothing more than ash," Arthur answered. "Somehow the mirror was...it was connected to her, I suppose. When it smashed, it destroyed her as well."

Merlin nodded slowly. "Where are we now?"

"On our way back to Camelot."

The manservant was silent for a long moment, apparently contemplating something. Then he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Arthur's extended hand. He regarded the bloody bandages wrapped around himself, and then set to work peeling them away. Arthur watched him, a bit unsettled by the blatant disregard Merlin was displaying. Perhaps something really was wrong?

"I know it wasn't your fault," Merlin spoke up finally, not looking up. The knights' brows furrowed, wondering to whom he was talking. "Mystral was controlling you, forcing you to hurt me. Like Lamia. It's okay. I understand."

The knights jolted and shared a baffled glance amongst themselves. Lamia? They remembered her, yes. They knew that they had been controlled by her, but she hadn't made them do anything but escort her to her lair, where she could feed on them...Right?

Horrible realization dawned on their features. Arthur looked confused, then looked back at Merlin, who had froze. He also wore a look of horror on his face, though his was more of one that insinuated he had said something he shouldn't.

Percival clenched a fistful of his shirt over his heart. "I thought those were just nightmares," he breathed.

Gwaine sank to his knees, head cradled in his hands. "Damn it, damn it..."

Leon's eyes had slipped closed as he attempted poorly to keep his composure. Elyan looked miserable.

"Lamia?" Arthur asked, feeling left quite out of the loop. "The snake woman I'd killed? Merlin, what do you mean?"

Merlin pressed his lips in a tight line, shaking his head. "Sorry, ignore what I said. I'm not thinking clearly...I have a headache. Let's get back to Camelot so I can see Gaius. Please."

The king only narrowed his eyes. "Lamia forced them to hurt you, too?"

"No, no," Merlin said, a bit too quickly. "I was just saying that Mystral was controlling them like Lamia had."

Arthur exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We need to get back to Camelot." He took Merlin's arm in his hand and began to drag him back to the road. "Now that Merlin can carry himself, we'll make good time. While we still have light, we can get some traveling done."

The knights waited until the king and his servant had passed before turning and following at a distance. Their legs felt heavy and leaden, as though they were walking through a thick swamp. Gwaine wasn't sure about the others, but he knew that he was going to drink himself into an alcohol-induced coma once they were back. And then he would leave. It seemed that whenever he was around, Merlin got hurt. Merlin didn't deserve that.

As he watched his best friend (whom he didn't deserve) bicker with his king, he was glad that he was all right. But the happiness he felt was just a tiny spark, as he was really drowning in misery.

**A/N:** Hi, sorry for the way later than usual update. I had a bit of writer's block for this particular chapter and was working on another idea because I'm stupid. Anyway, there's only one more chapter after this one!

Thanks so much for reading!


	16. Chapter 16 Epilogue

Chapter 16 [Epilogue]

"Actually," Gaius said, stepping back from Merlin, who was sitting on the examining table and looking quite bored and put out, "I believe you're healthier now than you'd been when you left."

Arthur scoffed incredulously, arms folded across his chest. "You can't be serious."

Gaius smirked wryly and began to put away his medical things. Merlin was slipping a shirt he'd somehow roped Arthur into fetching for him over his head. He'd already changed out of his ruined trousers upon their arrival.

"Well," Arthur said primly, "then I suppose Merlin will have no trouble going back to his chores, will he?" He cast a sidelong look to gauge the manservant's reaction, but he was surprised to see that Merlin was staring intently out of the physician chamber's window. "Merlin?"

"Where is he going?" Merlin asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Who?" Gaius asked idly, gazing out in the direction his ward was looking. "Ah, Gwaine. A patrol, perhaps?"

"I didn't send Gwaine on a patrol," Arthur frowned.

Merlin stood and moved closer to the window, eyes never straying from Gwaine's figure. Suddenly he spun on his heel and sprinted out of the room wordlessly.

"Merlin!" Arthur and Gaius called after him in surprise. They received no reply.

Feet pounding hard against the marble floor, Merlin ran as fast as he could, which was very, when he put his mind to it. He burst out of the door, the sun nearly blinding him from where it was setting behind the west wall. His blue eyes landed on Gwaine's receding figure, pack slung over his shoulder.

"Gwaine!"

The knight paused, turning to look over his head. He turned fully when he realized that Merlin was running toward him, and showed no intention of slowing down. Gwaine hardly had the time to raise his arms to catch Merlin as he flung himself at him.

"Don't leave!" Merlin uttered as he released the man, looking stricken. "Why are you leaving? Where are you going?"

Gwaine wore a pained expression. "I'm sorry, my frien...Merlin. I've come to the conclusion that I'm no good to anyone here. So I shall leave."

"Is this about what happened?" Merlin whispered huskily around the lump in his throat. "Because it's really not your fault. I don't blame you or the others for any of it."

Gwaine smiled sadly. "Thank you, Merlin. But I still must leave."

"No!" Merlin said heatedly. "I won't let you."

The knight blinked at him in surprise. Merlin seemed furious, and his eyes showed the beginnings of tears welling up. "Merlin," he started.

"Mate," Merlin interrupted. Gwaine blinked at him in confusion, and Merlin took a deep breath. "You nearly never refer to me by my name. You call me mate, or my friend."

Gwaine sighed. "You're really making this quite difficult."

"What's so difficult about staying here?" Merlin demanded, throwing a hand up into the air. "Camelot is your home now, isn't it? All your friends are here!"

"You are my best friend," Gwaine said calmly. "Most loyal, trusting, kind, caring...I've never met anyone quite like you. I've always wanted to protect you." He chuckled at Merlin's grimace. Before he could deny his need of it, Gwaine continued, "And that is why I must leave. I have hurt you, more than once, it seems. Even if I had no control over it, it just goes to show that I am not strong enough. You deserve better than that."

Merlin scowled. "If you leave, I'll hate you," he said. Then, after a deflating moment, he said, "No, no I won't hate you. But I'd be lonely. I'd miss you...I'd miss you like I miss Lancelot." A tear slipped down the manservant's cheek.

Gwaine's chest constricted painfully. He couldn't think of a single thing to say in return. Merlin just couldn't understand! He exhaled heavily through his nose, trying to come up with his argument.

"I forgive you," Merlin beat him to the punch. "There's nothing to forgive, absolutely nothing at all, but I forgive you, Gwaine. I forgive you, I do. So don't leave."

The knight visibly deflated. His pack fell from his shoulder to the cobblestones with a light thump, forgotten. The heels of his hands came up to press into his closed eyes - a feeble attempt to stay his tears. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Merlin pulled Gwaine's hands down gently, holding them in his own shyly. "I don't care if you do," he whispered. "Gwaine...I lo-"

"That is," cut in an indignant voice, "absolutely not how it happened, Sir Gwaine!"

Gwaine looked across the fire at Merlin, who was scowling in a good-natured way. "Yeah?" he repeated. "You sure about that, mate? It sounded like a confession to me."

Gaius, Gwen, Arthur, and the other three knights chuckled when Merlin turned scarlet. Elyan cast a look over his shoulder at the entrance of the small cave they had found shelter in. "Doesn't look like the rain is stopping anytime soon."

"That's all right," Merlin said, breaking the staring contest he'd gotten into with Gwaine. "We've still got the picnic."

"It'd have been better out in the warm sun," Arthur grumbled irritably.

Merlin grinned cheekily at him. "It's the thought that counts, Sire." And Merlin meant it. He'd been surprised when he'd woken late and found that Arthur and the knights had saddled their own horses, and one for him as well. Gaius had insisted that Merlin break fast with him, so he ate quickly and hurried out. The king had only regarded him coolly for a moment, and asked whether Gaius was on his way as well. This confused the poor manservant, but nonetheless he had been sent back to fetch the old man when he was ready. By the time Gaius had finished eating (so slowly) and cleared up, Gwen had joined the party as well. Merlin had stopped on the bottom step and refused to go farther until the strange behavior was explained. It was only by Gwaine's, Gwen's, and Gaius' combined coaxing that he grudgingly got onto his horse and followed them wherever they planned on going. He never did receive an explanation, but he soon forgot about it when he was caught up in all the fun.

The group joked and told stories as they rode through the trees. Even Arthur was laughing and grinning like a fool. The king had been happy when Gaius informed him that Merlin was quite well, and had no nightmares or hallucinations since their return. So Arthur had held a secret meeting of the round table when Gaius sent Merlin on an herb hunt, and it was decided that they would go ahead with their special plan for Merlin.

It had been months in the making, and every detail had been carefully constructed. Once they received a confirmation from their final participant, the date and time was set, and Merlin was still kept in the dark. What was a surprise, after all, if the recipient knew about it?

Everything had been going well. It was going just as it was supposed to, perhaps even better. Merlin was smiling more than he'd been in a very long time. It was refreshing to see, and the smiles were contagious all around.

And then the rain had come.

What started as a light drizzle quickly escalated into a downpour, and the party had to take shelter in a nearby cave. Luckily, it was just large enough for them, and there was dried wood already inside, as though someone some time ago had come into the same situation. They gladly used it to light a fire and warm up, waiting for the rain to cease so that they could continue. Merlin didn't seem to mind it at all, and he whispered the latest gossip into Gwen's ear. Ever since she had become queen, no one seemed to want to tell her anything. They giggled occasionally, and Arthur rolled his eyes fondly.

Soon enough, stories started to be told around the fire. Of course, when it was Gwaine's turn he told the story of why he had remained in Camelot. There was that ring of truth that was always in his tales, but as per usual he'd over exaggerated all the details.

Arthur regarded Merlin for a long moment. He'd gone back to talking animatedly about something, keeping Percival and Gwen enraptured. Not that the king was listening, he was too preoccupied. He caught Leon's eye, and the knight nodded back in understanding. He silently stood and crept back out into the rain.

Gaius and Elyan saw him go, but said nothing, casting a sidelong look at Merlin to make sure he hadn't seen. He hadn't.

Whenever Merlin's conversation began to lull, another one would strike him, effectively keeping the manservant from noticing Leon's absence. The rain poured down, down, down, endlessly. But no one seemed to mind anymore. Merlin was happy.

It was an hour before Leon returned, soaking wet. Merlin looked up as he entered, and confusion and concern crossed his features. But Gwen and Elyan were already prepared, offering up their cloaks so that he could dry off and warm up.

"Found her," Leon said mysteriously.

Before Merlin could get any more confused, a familiar figure followed Leon into the cave. She wrung out her long curls before accepted Percival's cloak, giving him a smile of thanks. She hardly managed to wrap it around her thin frame before Merlin was on her, hugging her fiercely.

"Merlin," Hunith said warmly, patting his back.

"Mother," he laughed. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited," she replied, smiling. Then she pulled away and cupped Merlin's face in her hand. "It's so good to see you, my boy."

Merlin beamed at her. Then he turned and gave his friends and mentor an exasperated look. "You could have told me."

His only response was laughter.

Merlin scowled good-naturedly and led his mother closer to the fire. Now he understood why everyone insisted that they wait to eat a while despite their being hungry. They wanted Hunith to join in on the meal. The warlock was so grateful.

The conversation around suddenly ceased, and an atmosphere of alarm overtook the group.

"What's wrong, my love?" Hunith asked in a hushed voice.

Merlin pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob, sniffing. Tears were running from his eyes. He shook his head, realizing that everyone was looking at him warily, all concerned. He laughed tremulously.

"It's nothing," he uttered at last, wiping his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. "It's just...thank you. Thank all of you."

At last they realized that Merlin was crying in happiness, and they relaxed.

It was Arthur who spoke, smirking: "What are friends for?"

**A/N:** Finally finished!

Thanks so much for reading all the way to the end. I hope it wasn't disappointing.

You guys are amazing. ^-^b


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